


Under peaceful conditions, the warlike attack themselves

by seriousfic



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Cheerleaders, F/F, Female Characters, Female Protagonist, Femslash, POV Female Character, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-28
Updated: 2011-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-25 01:17:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriousfic/pseuds/seriousfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn Fabray was it all--a cute boyfriend, a great career, and a fun hobby... fighting crime as the Cheerio, New York's peppiest superhero. But when the evil Prom Queen takes everything from her, can Rachel Berry, a mere Broadway understudy, help her pick up the pieces? Or will they, and the rest of New York, fall prey to the city's newest and most deadly supervillain: The Reptile. Aka, Santana Lopez!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was betaed by Appia Aemilla, and has an art compliment by peskywhistpaw. Title from a quote by Friedrich Nietzsche. Yeah, I know, don't judge.

The Notre Dame Cathedral, scene of so many films and TV shows, would have unrecognizable if a tourist wandered in. The austere heights had been packed to the brim with decorations befitting a high school prom. Streamers and balloons covered the famous arches like fungus, while confetti swirled in the air like an indoor snowstorm. The votive candles were cold, their light replaced by a disco ball, and the usual parishioners weren't praying, but swaying to the music that had replaced choir and organ: Lady Gaga.

And on the nave, the priest's place had been taken by the man once known as Kurt Hummel. After he'd been diagnosed 'too gay to function,' he'd had an operation to regulate his homosexuality. But the experiment had gone wrong, like eighty percent of science experiments in New York City, transforming Kurt into the sinister Prom Queen. He cackled triumphantly at the milling crowd. "Yes, dance, my pretties! Dance for your king!"

"Stop making people dance!" Finn yelled. He was tied to the altar and shirtless, naturally. "It's not like you're the lord of the dance or something!"

Kurt resisted the urge to grumble about Michael Flatley. "Silence, my sweet. Soon, my men will return with the Pope and I'll force him to marry us. And for our dowry, a dollar from every Catholic in the world. Otherwise, the world's most famous hat will be _smashed through his head!_ "

Finn thudded the back of his head against the altar. "Damnit, I'm just not that into you!"

"You sent all the signals! You like Top Gun!"

"It's a good movie! If I were gay, wouldn't I like Batman & Robin?"

"That's hate speech!" The Prom Queen hung his head. "You'd go gay for Ryan Reynolds, but not for me?"

"…have you seen Ryan Reynolds' abs?"

 **"Get away from him, Prom Queen, before you turn gay rights into gay wrong!"**

Prom Queen swung around, twirling three times before coming to a stop facing the voice. There, in the rafters…! "Only one person would _dare_ wear red and white with that complexion!"

The Golden-haired Goddess, more commonly known as the Cheerio, or Sunny and Cheer in her rap duet for charity, hovered down from the roof access, using her magic cheer ribbons like two bungee cords. Her cape and skirt billowed in the special indoor wind, while light from the stained glass window shone through her hair. Finn sighed adoringly, knowing that the Cheerio was really his girlfriend, Quinn Fabray, gal reporter, who the blogosphere called the Superhero Cheerleader for the editorials she wrote praising superheroes. Technically, it was a breach of ethics, but everyone got their news from Jon Stewart anyway, so who cared?

"My boots tie the outfit together!" Quinn shot back, touching down on red boots that were remarkably un-hooker-ish.

"True. You're not fashion victim… so you'll just have to be a regular victim!" Prom Queen grabbed his corsage, which shot a blast of acid at her. She dodged out of the way.

"Watch out!" Finn yelled.

"I got it, hon."

"Curse you, Finn Hummel! Cold feet is no excuse for helping my arch-nemesis."

"I had it covered," the Cheerio said.

Kurt had run out of patience. He pointed his finger at the Cheerio like he'd just seen Taye Diggs. "Get her, girls!"

Quinn unfurled her ribbons to face Prom Queen's five 'chaperones'. "Let me guess. 1-800-MINION?"

They grumbled assent as they brandished spiked punch (bats with nails in them).

"Did the temp agency tell you you'd be wearing skirts?"

"They're kilts!" one said defensively.

"No, they're questioning gendonormative fashion!" Kurt barked. "Men can wear skirts! Women can wear pantsuits!"

"You're insane!" Quinn cried. Using her ribbons like chain-whips or non-actionable Spider-Man webbing, she dropped Kurt's henchmen like panties at a Justin Timberlake show. "The Pope sent me to RSVP with my fists. He's too busy to officiate a glitter-gun wedding."

"Doing what? Looking like Emperor Palpatine?"

"Yes. There's a Star Wars convention in town. He wants to show he has a sense of humor."

"Camp humor? That's ours, just like Hugh Jackman!"

Stowing her ribbons in her belt like a gunslinger's… guns, the Cheerio walked up the stairs. She felt a flutter of anticipation in her stomach. Soon, she'd be walking up those stairs with her dad. Finn would be there, but wearing a tux and not tied up, preferably.

She refocused on Kurt. Superheroing was a lot like cheerleading: not because there were underage girls in sexualized uniforms, but because you had to keep your eye on the prize in both. Through her domino mask, she gave Prom Queen her deadliest death-glare. "Where you're going, there'll be a lot of gay sex. San Francisco! Where you have an outstanding warrant!"

"What? All I said there was that bisexuals were a myth, like the Easter Bunny and women who enjoy sex!"

"That's hate speech, bitch. And you're going down for it. Otherwise, we'd live in a world where people were free to say whatever they wanted, like America before the 90s, _when it sucked!_ "

The Prom Queen dramatically looked away from her. He spent seventy percent of conversations dramatically not making eye contact. "Then it appears you've outmaneuvered me again. If only I had one last trick up my sleeve… a-ha!" With a triumphant high note, Kurt pulled a gun from the elastic waistband of his underwear visible over his pants and shot Finn in the head.

Quinn froze. "What the fuck?" Kurt tried to aim at her, but she slapped the gun away. "You said you loved him!"

"If I can't have him, no one—"

With a roar, Quinn backhanded him through age-old stained glass and ran to Finn's side. There was no exit wound, which meant it was lodged in his brain, and for a wild moment all she could think of was getting it out. She refocused, her training kicking in a moment late. Blood was leaking, _unspooling_ , from his head, and she had to stop it. Ripping a strip of cloth from her cape, she bandaged his head. She petted his cheeks and kissed his face until her lips tasted of gunpowder. She knew there'd be cops and paramedics already on the way in. But even as they took him away, Finn didn't move.

***

Over the next few months, New York noticed a change in its hometown hero. The Cheerio no longer put in appearances at exhibitions or fought MMA fighters for charity. She didn't even sing the National Anthem at baseball games, or lead the choir at church meetings. All she did was find criminals and punish them.

***

The alarm clock showed 5:57. Quinn's hand hovered over it. The fingers, nails mangy, hung in limp curls. Last night, Quinn had had a bad dream. She supposed it was a nice change-up from the insomnia.

Her name was Quinn Nancy Fabray. People called her the Cheerio, but it was bullshit. The Cheerio was a myth. She didn't exist. That was why none of her enemies could hurt her. They were aiming at a mask. Except for Kurt, aiming at her heart.

Quinn looked at the picture she'd framed on her bedside. Her and Finn. High school sweethearts. She couldn't save him.

Kurt she'd saved. She'd wanted to kill him, but she hadn't. That was what mattered.

5:59 AM now.

Today was another bad day.

The digits changed, the alarm sounded. Quinn pressed Snooze. It was time to get up. And as much as cliché insisted she should stay in bed all day, it offered her no more comfort than the outside world. She had to be out there. The only thing that made her feel was the knowledge that other people weren't as numb as this. She wanted to keep them that way.

***

Finn was so tall and sturdy. Quinn had always liked that about him. Even though she could throw him a mile up, the appearance was that she was his little lady. And she liked appearances. She liked nobody suspecting she was a superhero, she was so petite compared to him.

Seeing him locked up in bedsheets and IV tubes, as substantial as the shadow of his former self, made Quinn hurt in ways she didn't think were possible. The only reason she continued visiting him was God and appearances. She owed it to Finn to keep playing the grieving widow, even if her tears were for herself. And some part of her believed that her pain was so special, God would notice and wake Finn up.

She played the dutiful girlfriend for the receptionist and nurses. Quinn smiled just enough, a smile but still sad but still a smile. She wasn't going through the motions. She was just doing her job.

The elevator took her up, playing the same boring muzak, hitting the same boring bump. But when the doors opened, her life changed.

Someone was singing. It was soft enough to be a love song, but too soft to make out the words. Quinn was outraged. How could someone sing in the coma ward? Her heels clicking like war drums against the tile floor, she went to Finn's room. Unbelievably, the music was coming from inside. Quinn turned the knob and pushed the door open.

There was a slight, dark-haired girl at Finn's bedside. Unlike Quinn, who was only less than statuesque in comparison to bruisers like Finn, the girl was in genuine danger of being stumpy. She needed to be wearing pumps, not… oh God… Keds. At least she had a nice singing voice. "Who are you supposed to be?"

The other woman stopped midverse, looking at Quinn like the blonde was in her costume and she'd been caught cracking a safe. "I'm—oh, you're Quinn—I'm Rachel Berry, Finn's friend from Glee club. Maybe you recognize me from some of the plays I've been in? They were off-Broadway, but almost all of them were in English! And I was in a Friday the 13th movie. I didn't have any lines, but I did get a nude scene."

Quinn felt an overwhelming need to contradict Rachel. "Finn's not in Glee club."

Rachel blinked like Quinn had just presented her with a logic puzzle. "Yes, he's been a Gleek for half a year."

"Don't call him that."

"It's an affectionate nickname."

"I don't care if it's his slave name. Stop talking like you know him. And who said you could sing to my comatose boyfriend anyway?"

"The hospital." The barb landed and for a moment Rachel looked ashamed of herself, staring at her shoes instead of Quinn's eyes. "I'm gonna go now."

Rachel hurdled past her. Quinn didn't feel any relief at having her gone. She looked at Finn and thought of another hour of holding his hand and praying he would squeeze back, of wondering if one little word of hers would be heard by God or man. She thought of ending so wound up that she'd spent the rest of the night taking out her frustration on whoever she caught breaking the law.

What Would Jesus Do?

Sighing, Quinn turned to pursue Rachel. She caught her at the elevator. The tiny singer had regained her equilibrium, standing in front of the elevator doors with her posture in perfect alignment, arms folded in a huff. "Hey," Quinn called.

Rachel looked over her shoulder. Seeing Quinn, her whole body seemed to cringe away in potent embarrassment, but she stood her ground. "Look, I'm sorry. Whatever I did to offend you, you have my sincerest apologies. I was just visiting a friend."

"I know, I'm sorry. He just never mentioned you, so it was a bit of a shock seeing you there."

Rachel turned around, her thick eyebrows furrowed. "He never mentioned me? He talked about you all the time."

Quinn nodded, almost pleased with herself. "We've been going out since high school."

Rachel almost seemed hungry for a connection. "Finn said you were a cheerleader? That's kinda like being in Glee."

"Not really."

Quick as a punch-card, Rachel shot her hand out. "Rachel Berry, triple threat. Not that anyone seems to care since Autotune was invented. I'm currently starring in Spider-Man: Turn Off The Dark… if one or two people get sick. I guess you could call me a starving artist, but with society-mandated standards of beauty being what they are, I'm one of the few actresses who isn't starving herself."

Quinn took her hand before she could get into act two of her life story. "Quinn Fabray. Single threat. And any friend of Finn's is a friend of mine."

Rachel pumped Quinn's hand enthusiastically. "Really? You're a lot less bitchy than I thought you were a few minutes ago. I mean—"

"Don't apologize, I get that a lot."

Rachel let go of Quinn's hand and parked her hands under her arms, smiling oddly. Quinn guessed she was relieved to have one less person thinking of her as a freak, if that wasn't too cruel an assumption.

"So you sing to him," Quinn said, her voice still coming out suspicious.

"Yeah, he always liked my singing voice. He always said that if I were on the radio, people would think I was really sexy."

Quinn smiled and nodded, smiled and nodded. "I read him verses from the Bible. You've probably heard about it, it's the backbone of American morality."

"Oh, I didn't know he was that religious."

"He is," Quinn said certainly.

"I'm Jewish," Rachel said with a bop of her head. "We're like OG Christians. We were getting persecuted by the Romans before it was cool. So, hey, you should come to my show. Well, I say my show… really it's Julie's show. Julie Taymor… we work together. I work under her. I can get you a free pass to the show. We've mostly fixed the electrocution problems."

"Maybe later. I keep pretty busy."

"Yeah, Finn said you were a workaholic. He never said what you did, though…"

"I'm a counselor for at-risk youths."

***

She broke up a gang rumble, or whatever they were called these days. Twenty unconscious gang members later, she could breathe without wanting to scream. The vibrant colors of her costume went to waste as she lurked in the shadows of a fire escape, watching the cops handcuff and process.

She'd been like them once. Running off at a moment’s notice to save the lives of people she hardly ever knew, never once thinking whether or nor she’d come back. Always pushing forward, never pausing, never appreciating what she had. How many times did she told Finn she loved him?

Not nearly enough, she was sure. And now he couldn't hear a word she said.

***

Santana woke up with warmth all along her left side. Hair tickled at her throat, fingers absently stretched along her ribs, a leg was thrown over her waist. She'd done it again. Sam never cuddled with her.

She pulled away so fast she woke Brittany. The blonde blinked awake, reaching automatically for Santana before remembering to keep her hands on her side of the bed.

Santana had fallen asleep in the nude, something else she never did with Sam. She pulled the sheets over her breasts. "You seduced me again."

Brittany didn't bother to cover herself. "I'm sorry. I tried to have an ugly haircut and wear men's clothes, but I guess lesbians like that."

"Don't call me that." Santana reached over and pulled Brittany's sheets up for her. "Do you know what people would think if they saw us like this?"

"'That's hot.'"

"If they thought we were gay for each other?"

"I think they'd be happy for me."

"Grow a brain. And don't look at me, I need to get dressed for the walk of shame." Brittany turned away. Santana tried not to look at the perfect musculature of her back. She'd kept herself in such good shape. "We have to stop doing this."

Brittany shook her head. "I'm not the one doing it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Santana asked, finding her panties.

Brittany turned her head. In profile she was classical, a goddess. "I never could say no to you, San."

Santana violently pulled on her clothes. "You're right. It's in me. It's something I have to get rid of."

Brittany stood and stared into Santana. Just meeting her eyes made Santana relive every memory of last night, made her want to make new memories. "I'm confused again."

"Don't be. I only mean we're not going to wake up like this anymore."

"I like waking up to you, first thing in the morning." Santana threw Brittany's leftover clothes to her. "You're not going to another gay cure camp, are you? I still get texts from the friends you made last time. I don't know what to tell them when they ask what I think of their breasts. All I can tell them is that they have nice nipples. I've never seen a bad nipple."

Santana pulled her shoelaces taut in their knot. "Look, don't worry about it, okay? We're going to be friends again. That's all we were ever meant to be."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I want to be your friend. You know, since Finn was my friend and he was your friend too… he'd want *someone* to look out for you. And I can be very nurturing. I work at a vet's office!"

Quinn's talk with Rachel did do one thing. She maybe had to meet Finn halfway. She recalled he had always liked those Sci-Fi Channel Original Movies about giant crocodiles fighting large sharks fighting actors with no careers, so she gave Psalms a rest and read to him from a book about a skyscraper-sized shark terrorizing a beachside community. Apparently, a regular-sized shark wasn't scary enough.

“'He saw the swell of her breast flush,'" she read, "'and…” She read ahead silently a bit. Blushed. Flipped ahead. "And they have sex…" She continued flipping. "And more sex… When’s the giant shark going to eat people?"

From the doorway, Rachel coughed. She even coughed petitely, like she was afraid she might disturb Finn. "Good book, Quinn?"

"Oprah recommended it."

"And is he getting any better?"

"I think he moved his finger. Probably just my imagination."

Rachel had brought a glass of water with her. She sprinkled it on a bouquet of flowers in the corner. It was a somber, pretty arrangement. One Quinn hadn't sent.

"My offer still stands," Rachel said, apparently finding it easier to talk to Quinn when they weren't making eye contact. "And you can bring some friends. This Chinese diplomatic party just canceled. Apparently, they think it'd be really easy for an assassin to fake an accident. Julie Taymor also did The Lion King, did you know that?"

"Yes, I heard." Quinn chucked the book in the trash. Stupid idea anyway. "Anyone ever tell you that you come on _real_ strong?"

Rachel shrugged. "Someone once told me I have a Type-A personality. I think I have an A+ personality."

"Yeah, well, I'm getting this real weird feeling that I'm your project and I don't like it."

"I don't project!" Rachel said defensively, facing Quinn and clasping her hands to her chest. "It's just that Finn always made it sound like the two of you were on your own. You moved here from Ohio together, he spends all his time coaching high school football, you spend all your time whatevering, so your only real social circle is teenage boys. I mean, Finn's social circle… I don't think there's anything inappropriate going on with you and teenage boys."

"So, I'm not your project, you just wanna take care of me?"

"I want to be your friend. You know, since Finn was my friend and he was your friend too… he'd want _someone_ to look out for you. And I can be very nurturing. I work at a vet's office!"

"Don't let me keep you from the vet, Rachel, I have a lot of friends."

***

"Does anyone want to be Quinn's partner?" Professor Holliday called. Quinn kept going to her community college out of some surely-sadomasochistic subconscious reasons. It seemed easier to just keep going than to drop it, which would seem like admitting defeat somehow. She doubted Finn wanted her to admit defeat.

And maybe she was just a little grumpy or maybe people had heard about her boyfriend, but lab partners were in scarce supply for her. She didn't care—she usually got paired with someone who thought he could set the ice queen on Defrost. But now she'd finally run out of paramours and Holly Holliday had gone Good Will Hunting on her, trying to set her up with someone so she didn't become a chemistry class old maid.

"Come on," Holliday said, "I know she's a blonde, but it won't kill you to have her for a lab partner. Although it can kill you not to mind the safety protocols, so please do that, whoever your partner is. But hey, Quinn's a hottie. I'd Mary Kay Letourneau her if you got a few drinks in me. Hey, gang, think that'd contribute to your final grade? Couldn't hurt!"

Quinn closed her eyes and prayed for something, anything, to make Holly Holliday stop talking.

"Miss Holliday!" Rachel's voice cut through the air like a whistle with perfect pitch. Quinn turned her head so hard she nearly cut her circulation off. Rachel had arrived late, wearing a pink labcoat and some sort of Kanye West safety goggles. Why would anyone even make those? "I'll be Quinn's partner!"

"And for that, I won't even count you as tardy. See, class? A good deed is its own reward."

Quinn tightened her gloves as Rachel sat down beside her. Enthusiastically, the brunette set about squaring away their work area.

"What are you doing here?" Quinn demanded.

"I go to this school. I was in the Glee club with Finn, remember? What, did you think that was the only class I took?"

Quinn resolved not to look at Rachel, and not just because of her eye-gouging fashion sense. She paged through her textbook. "I thought you were dreaming of being Liza Minelli's adopted daughter. What, is boiling acid your day job?"

"No, I'm up for a role as a scientist that James Bond sleeps with in the next movie. The notice says she's ugly, but Hollywood ugly. My agent says that's me all over!"

How did a human being have that chipper a smile? Quinn had seen people on Ecstasy with more negative outlooks on life. "Look, have you ever seen Single White Female? They've made, like, twenty movies with the exact same plot. That's you. You're the single white female."

"Actually, one of my dads has a Cherokee grandmother, so I feel like 'white' is a misnomer."

Quinn sighed. At least she could be sure of one thing. There was no way Finn could be cheating on her with this… individual.

"Let's just get this over with so I can be grateful and we can move on."

Holliday was droning on about acid, like they hadn't handled it a million times before. At least Rachel was helpful. Quinn read out the instructions and marked down their findings while Rachel diligently mixed the chemicals. She held up a beaker to the light.

"Quinn, would you say this is black or beige?"

Quinn turned to look just as a passing student jostled Rachel. Like it was slow-motion, Quinn saw the acid detach as the beaker tipped, the shimmering globules of it scattering through the air, the landing on Rachel's forearm. Rachel went into hysterics, screaming and shaking her arm. Quinn didn't think either. She just turned on a faucet and held Rachel's arm under it until the acid washed off. When she looked up, their eyes met.

Rachel had never seen such fierce determination in anyone. It had come out of nowhere. Quinn relaxed her face, offering a supportive 'can you believe that?' smile. She wiped away Rachel's tears with the cuff of her shirt. "Come on. Let's get you to the infirmary."

***

They walked at a brisk pace through the late morning chill, ignoring the heavy sunlight and chirping birds. Rachel couldn't stop looking at the reddened skin. "I'm like the Phantom of the Opera!"

"It’s not quite that bad."

"It burns…"

"That’s good," Quinn consoled her. She was holding Rachel's hand, as if the other woman might get lost, and with her free hand she scratched Rachel's back comfortingly. "It means it’s not a third-degree burn. There, your nerves would be burned off. This is just a little thing."

"You’re trying to distract me. Keep it up."

"Ummm… okay. Lemme think." Quinn tried to think of a story to tell, but they all seemed to revolve around either fighting supervillains or spending time with Finn. She'd never had much of a life outside of those two, unless you counted Sunday school. And Quinn doubted Rachel wanted to hear about the midnight showing of Passion of the Christ. "I have some games on my iPhone."

"Do you know any songs?"

"What? Of course. I know songs."

"Sing to me."

"I'm not going to sing to you."

"You sing in the shower, don't you?"

"No. I wash in the shower."

"What about when you're in the car and listening to the radio?"

"It's a radio, not a duet."

"I bet you'd be a great singer. You enunciate very well."

"Thanks."

"And I think you have a lot of lung capacity."

Quinn glanced downward. This was what she got for wearing a push-up bra just because it was the only clean underwear she had.

"Maybe I could start," Rachel suggested, "and you just jump in whenever you feel comfortable. Alright?"

"We're here."

Quinn practically shoved Rachel into the doctor's office.

***

Santana had always known she'd have to take care of herself. Her parents had been worthless, squabbling over Range Rovers and yachts while it was just assumed she would be split fifty-fifty. And let some boy take care of her? Yeah, that had worked out great for mom.

The typical cheerleader dream of snaring a millionaire and sexing him out of a pre-nup didn't work for her. Just from the first line of her biography—brown, sexually complicated, bitch—she knew she'd never make it as half of a power couple.

Funny enough, her brain seemed like it was meant for science. Maybe it was a defense mechanism. She could read a chapter of her textbook, _comprender_ it, and listen to her iPods for the rest of the period while the teacher power-stuttered through the lesson plan. When it came to science, she understood like it was Brittany.

Santana knew scientists weren’t well-paid either, which convinced her not to go the traditional route, doing research at the whip-crack of corporations or universities. Instead, she charmed her way into all the equipment and lab assistants she would ever need. She would get a patent, and with that, she'd be set for life.

Her project was nanoviruses. Not quite virii and not quite nanotech technology, the scientific world had given up on practical applications for them. But Santana saw no reason they couldn't be symbiotes, rooting out cancer cells or even strands of DNA. Like the genes responsible for impossible urges.

Santana had also always known that the only way to play was fast and loose. As she added the gay gene to the nanovirus's pathology, she thought of brave new worlds and who they'd be peopled with. People who'd be faster, smarter, stronger. People who could decide who they were going to be.

***

Sue Sylvester ran the Daily Corner, New York's most prosperous newspaper ever since the New York Times had been blown up by the Yellow Journalist. Although she was stridently anti-superhero, she kept Quinn on as a dissenting opinion. Besides, the only reason they'd sold 50,000 copies of the "Women of the Daily Corner" calendar was that Quinn was on the front cover. And people couldn't get refunds for "Sue is months February through October." As if she didn't look great in a sling bikini.

Sue's red business suit flared when she spoke, her coattails flying out with each impassioned swing, her necktie whipping back and forth like a cobra. "Where's Fabray!" she demanded of Becky, her ever-beleaguered advertising executive.

"Yes coach?" Becky asked from behind Sue.

Sue swung around. "Where's Fabray?"

"Right behind you, coach."

Sue completed a 360 degree turn to find Quinn just coming through the door.

"There you are!"

"Here I am."

"What are you doing with your life, Quinn Fabray?" Sue insisted, hands on her hips. "We’re about to go to print and you’re just lollygagging around?"

"In my defense, those lollies really needed gagging."

"Don’t get smart with me, Fabray."

"Sorry, it’s just I get tired of waiting for you to."

Ever since Finn's accident, Quinn stopped being meek and quiet like people under 30 should be. Now every other sentence was a comeback. Sue didn't know what had happened to the good girl who'd shown her the proper respect.

"You get your column turned in?" Sue demanded.

"I sent it to your e-mail."

"You know I never check my e-mail! I have Becky do it for me, just in case someone's sent a mail bomb."

Quinn almost waved as the easy punchline passed her by. "Listen, there’ve been some debts I have to pay, so if I could have a slight advance on my paycheck…"

"Slight! I don’t do slight! You want slight, go down on Times Square, play find the queen with some hooligan!"

For once, Quinn stood her ground. "They’re Finn’s debts. I’ve put the debtors off for as long as I…"

"You think having a boyfriend in a coma is hard? Try running a newspaper in the middle of the digital age! That's hard!"

***

As Quinn left the offices, she saw someone down on one knee, someone else saying yes. A hug, a kiss, a ring. She left before everyone could congratulate them.

***

That night, Quinn slept on her side. If she opened her eyes, she'd find her apartment spotless. When her parents had visited to offer their condolences, they'd remarked on how clean it was, obviously expecting a junkyard instead. She didn't get the surprise. It wasn't like her social calendar was too busy for her to fit in some spring cleaning.

For once, she didn't have the nightmare of running through the city, hunting down the person responsible, only to end up at a mirror. Instead, all she remembered was the sensation of a man's arm, thick and hairy, sliding around her. Holding her tight.

She'd smiled in her sleep, for the few seconds it took her to realize it wasn't Finn… couldn't be Finn. And she jerked awake.

One hand grabbed the neck of the intruder, the other cocked a fist, and her eyes showed her she was threatening a pillow.

***

The worst part of Santana's relationship with Sam—the worst part on his end, anyway, it wasn't like there was any competition—was that he didn't fight for her. He didn't get possessive, he didn't demand to know where she'd been late at night, he just gave up on her. Like he knew Santana was one of those. Like he'd been waiting all this time for their relationship to break apart along this one huge crack.

The nanovirus had required her to make injections through the skin and into her bones, where it was sure to take hold in the marrow. She thought of Brittany and the names she'd been called—dyke, lesbo, run-muncher—and she pushed.

She went home. Her body felt like it was tingling, but she knew that was just her imagination. It couldn't be taking effect yet. Could it?

Sam opened the door. He wasn't possessive, angry, surprised. He just pointed her to the kitchen table, where supper still waited.

Santana grabbed his face like she was choking him and kissed him hard. She didn't feel the same heat she felt with Brittany, but at least she didn't think of her. It was Sam. Only Sam.

"We're gonna be okay, baby," she said as she led him to the bedroom. "We're gonna be just fine."

***

Afterward, Santana washed up. Not like it was with Brittany, washing the smell off, the kisses. Just splashing cold water on her face so she'd look her best for her man.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Perfect. Beautiful. Only some of the color had gone out of her cheeks. She put on some rouge. And there was a hair out of place. She reached for it and a clump fell out, scattering apart in the air mockingly.

Santana looked at her reflection again. Perfect. Beautiful. She tapped the mirror.

It was nothing. It had to be nothing.

***

"Didn't you used to eat Lucky Charms?" someone whispered in Quinn's ear as she ate breakfast. A man's voice. A familiar voice.

She searched the apartment. Stripped the bed. The cushions. Threw the books off the shelf.

She did her exercises in the middle of the mess, trying to sweat out the memory.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn didn't know many people who would, on a moment's notice, for a virtual stranger, rent a U-Haul truck and show up in the middle of Brooklyn. But Rachel was trying to take care of her, apparently, so she was kind of obligated by the rules of annoying overachievers everywhere.

After a quick morning patrol and breaking a purse snatcher's wrist, Quinn got to Finn's apartment. She'd thought she'd have more time, but the super was already watching two movers dump boxes of Finn's stuff in a stack on the sidewalk.

"Lease is out. Sorry," the super said preemptively, seeing Quinn come at him like she was two heads higher than him instead of the other way around.

"I need more time, I can get the money!"

"No, you can't, Ms. Fabray," the super assured her. He put his hand on her shoulder. "Listen…it's not like he's living here."

Quinn slapped his hand away and it hit a lightpost, making the super bite his teeth in agony. "Everything has to be waiting for him when he wakes up, everything has to be..." Quinn calmed down. For a moment, she'd had an irrational fear that the invisible man was there, pushing her hands and speaking with her voice. "You can't do this," she finished simply.

The super was favoring his hand. "Take this junk wherever you like," he said before going back into his building.

***

Quinn didn't know many people who would, on a moment's notice, for a virtual stranger, rent a U-Haul truck and show up in the middle of Brooklyn. But Rachel was trying to take care of her, apparently, so she was kind of obligated by the rules of annoying overachievers everywhere.

Quinn squashed the thought as she had it. After an hour of sitting with Finn's stuff, giving her best bitchface to anyone who looked at her for more than two seconds, Rachel had showed up and even helped load the truck, although that had just consisted of going to get Quinn an iced mocha and coming back to find the truck full. Still, it was a good iced mocha, and calling Rachel out on being helpful was the worst sort of unchristian behavior.

"Thanks again for saving me," Rachel said after they'd gone one block. One fucking block of silence.

"I didn't save you," Quinn said. "It was just a little—"

"Everyone at the theater signed my bandage."

"Doesn't that only work with casts?"

"No, the production staff wrote small. Look, you can see Kelsey Grammar's signature."

"Kelsey Grammar's in the Spider-Man musical?"

"He auditioned, but a light almost fell on his head. Still, we consider him an honorary member. He pointed me to a great deal on shoes." They hit a red light. Rachel fiddled with the radio but couldn't find a station she liked. She replaced it with a steady stream of chatter as she twisted the dial. "But that was really cool how you saved me—didn't save me. The look on your face was so heroic. It shocked me. I would've been less surprised if you'd belted out Barbra Streisand. But then, I am always disappointed when people don't belt out Barbra Streisand. Her works are surprisingly applicable to everyday life."

Quinn couldn't take it anymore. She surged against her seatbelt to get in Rachel's face. "Did you sleep with Finn?"

"What? No! What?" Rachel looked like she'd just been told something with six legs was crawling around her back. "Quinn, I'm… I mean… he's a _boy._ "

"What does that have to do with—" Oh. _Oh._ Quinn meekly sat back down. She'd always thought Focus on the Family had it wrong about ungodly homosexual Broadway spectacles. Hugh Jackman was in them, after all. He was all man. "So you're a… what's the politically correct term?"

"We're still on lesbian. Although 'vaginally-oriented female' has been suggested in the newsletter." Rachel was still merrily keeping her ten-o'clock-two-o'clock hands on the wheel and signaling away.

"Oh. Cool." Quinn was suddenly really aware of the crucifix she wore about her neck. "Don't worry, I'm not some sort of bigot. I think God made you exactly the way you are. Well, maybe not exactly, but He definitely had a hand in the lady thing."

"Thank you, Quinn Fabray." Rachel paused, her brow furrowing. "Do I look like a temptress?"

Quinn raised an eyebrow. That dress with those shoes? That look had been chic maybe once in the 60s and once in the 80s; those were the ends of the bell curve of pissing off Joan Rivers. "You sorta look like a cross-dresser."

Rachel laughed. "A cross-dresser loaned me this dress!"

Quinn laughed along with her. It felt good. Like she'd earned it.

"Can I ask a question?" Rachel asked. Quinn hated when people did that, made a two-part question out of a one-off question, but she couldn't get too mad at Rachel.

"Shoot."

"I mean, since you got to ask me about my sex life and all…" Rachel was still on part one. "Uhh, you have an apartment. Why can't you just move Finn's things there?"

Quinn looked out the window. She thought answering a question like that—and though she'd hoped Rachel was dim enough not to ask, she _knew_ she was assertive enough to actually put it into words—would piss her off. Come out in that sarcastic hiss she did so well. But she actually felt a little at ease.

Rachel's sheer obstructive concern and sympathy, like a low-watt Care Bear Stare, made the words flow. "We were going to do that after we got married." There. It was said.

"I didn't know you were engaged," Rachel said carefully.

"Engaged to be engaged."

"Oh. Well, he did say thinking about you helped him sing. He loved ballads."

"Yeah." Finn, who had never gone with her to a musical in her life. And she'd offered.

Maybe he got something from Glee Club that he couldn't get from her. Quinn didn't feel much anger there. She'd needed something more than him too. And now that he was gone, being the Cheerio was all that kept her going.

***

Inevitably, Rachel lived in Queens. As she explained ad nauseum, when her two dads had moved to Florida, she'd kept the house. With her commute, using the garden for vegetable smoothies, and not having to pay for hair salons because her hair was naturally full and bouncy, it was actually cheaper than living in the city.

One look at how Quinn easily lifted a box chockfull of old football gear and Rachel said she'd make tea. Her house had a basement with a lot of space now that the dads had moved out, and Quinn felt the depressed anxiety that'd been with her since talking to the super dissolve away with every box she set down. And finally, Finn's whole adult life was packed up in a corner of Rachel's basement.

Looking at it, Quinn blinked with tears. She hadn't cried since that first sleepless night in the hospital. It felt so self-indulgent when Finn was the one hurt.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Rachel said.

She'd walked in on her and like a switch had been thrown, the presence of another warm body and the simple apology hit Quinn in the gut. She doubled over, gritting a sob through her teeth, then forced herself to straighten, then put the fingers of one hand on her sinuses as if she could dry the tears before they emerged. And before the silent, ridiculous battle against herself could continue, Rachel had her hand.

"Come here," Rachel said firmly. The cheerful patois she usually spoke with was gone. Quinn's every emotion seemed magnified; she felt an overwhelming relief that Rachel wasn't babying her. Maybe that was why she let the shorter woman turn her around and, after a moment of hesitation on Rachel's part, embrace her.

Rachel's arms were loose around her, but tight, like a scarf around her neck. Rachel was giving her permission to break free, to push her away, and that just meant Quinn couldn't. She'd stopped crying, but sobs shook her chest, vibrating into Rachel, who uncomplainingly braced herself against them. Then that too died away, but Rachel's arms stayed around her and Quinn stayed in their grip.

Her damp eyes circled around. Rachel's basement was a smorgasbord, leftovers of life upstairs. There were boxes with names like "sheet music" and "choir recital," clearly organized and marked in a script so mechanically crisp it could only be Rachel's. On the floor was a box of video tapes, some desk drawers missing from a filing cabinet, even a couple floppy disks. Rachel's life was so full, and yet it was all organized. Quinn couldn't even remember most days since Finn was injured.

Rachel was warm, too. Soft, in a world that seemed to be all sharp edges and hard surfaces lately. Quinn imagined pulling Rachel to the floor, laying her down on top of the Persian rug that Rachel had probably put down here because it didn't fit with God only knew what décor she had decided on for the rest of the house, and just breathing. Staying in Rachel's arms until layer after layer of ennui and despair and weariness fell away from her. Maybe when she woke up, there'd be no more waking dreams of men and voices.

No. What was she doing? This complete stranger was hugging her and she was going to, _Jesus_ , have a breakdown, sleepover with her like a little girl? With a lesbian at that, not that she cared, but talk about giving someone the wrong idea! As graciously as possible, Quinn untangled herself from Rachel.

"I have to go. I have work.."

"Oh. Okay," Rachel said. She looked like she was on the verge of saying something else when Quinn walked out, breaking into a run when the door shut behind her. A few blocks away, she ducked behind some bushes and changed into her Cheerio costume, secret identity be damned, and let her ribbons take her the rest of the way home.

***

That night, when Quinn laid down in bed, Finn was lying next to her.

"Night, honey."

She rolled away from him. Her eyes screwed shut. But she was all out of tears.

Finn's voice came again. "Quinn?"

"Good night, honey," she forced out.

His hand draped over her shoulder. She kissed it and held it next to her face, letting the simple warmth of it pull her to sleep.

***

When she woke up, there was voice mail waiting for her on her cell phone. She let the little icon flash while she went for coffee. The machine was broken. Just one more thing. She checked her phone. It was Sue.

***

The Daily Corner breakroom hadn't been the same since Sue replaced the microwave with an eternal flame, which doubled as a memorial for Ted Kennedy. Quinn wasn't sure if he'd been that fond of shish-kebob, but no one got to choose how they were remembered. She cornered the coffee machine and forced it into operation, and she was still watching it drip when Sue found her.

"You're here," Sue exclaimed, quelle surprise. "And not wearing black. Aren't you worried the goth secret police will haul you in and confiscate your ankh?"

"I'm not a goth, Sue." She didn't know quite what she was, so she lied. "I'm a reporter, so give me something to report."

Sue bobbed on the balls of her feet like she'd just taken a hit. "Oh, I've got something for you, alright. Some eggheads are opening a new observatory. I guess even though the stars have been there for millions of years, everyone's been too lazy to get to the bottom of them. Go over there and bring me back a story, even if you have to spike the punch! In fact, ask the receptionist for her whiskey flask."

"Got it. Spike the punch. I'll see if I can roofie someone too." Quinn considered the conversation over. She went to get a fresh mug of coffee before she left.

Sue hovered over her. "You know, bad things happen to everyone. When I was eight, my dog was stolen to be experimented on in a laboratory. The next time I saw him, he had robot legs, eight of them. Did I get mad? You're darn right I did. And I got a new dog, and I trained him to viciously attack on command, going for the throat or the genitals. Do you think that dog ended up a cybernetic organism? No. He didn't. I put him down because he either caught rabies or ate my shaving cream. But he had a much longer run than the first, cyborg dog. So what kind of dog do you want, Fabray? A canine with all sorts of doodads and gizmos, or a dog with testicles in its stomach, from consuming groin? It's your call, Fabray. It's all your call."

***

Quinn had class, so that day at least, she didn't start a Twitter account named "Old Woman With An Emma Watson Haircut Says". After a few more hours of being lectured, she dropped by the canteen and picked up a cup of coffee, since she couldn't very well get one at home. She sat down in a corner, the Styrofoam rasping against her fingers and the warmth of the coffee not seeming to reach her palms, as she looked out at the other students.

Most of them don’t even know what’d happened. Would they care if they did? Finn was just some guy, not very bright, not very handsome, (just hers). And Quinn Fabray? A name, nothing more. But she could feel the ones who knew. They were watching her Wondering how she felt, wondering if they should say hello. _That’s Quinn Fabray,_ they were thinking. Isn’t she the girl with the boyfriend in a coma?

"Yeah, that’s me," Quinn muttered. "That’s Quinn Fabray."

"Is this seat taken?" Rachel asked out of nowhere, voice seeming to brim with excitement over the possibility that it wasn't.

Quinn kicked a chair away from the table. "It is now."

Rachel happily perched herself on the chair, digging food out of a paper bag. "Do you always eat alone?"

"It aids my digestion."

Rachel was unwrapping a baked potato packed in aluminum foil. She must've nuked it in the microwave, because it was still warm, the smell wafting off it making Quinn go weak in the knees (it'd been a long time since she'd had something other than leftovers and Chinese take-out). Luckily, she was sitting.

"Oh, are you hungry?" Rachel asked. She hurriedly stuck her fork in the potato and pushed it at Quinn. "Here. You take it. I shouldn't eat it anyway, I'm trying to lose weight."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

Quinn took the damn potato and speared a fragment on her fork. "Why are you trying to lose weight?"

"Oh, you know, the business. I'm trying for a role, so I need to be thin."

"You are thin," Quinn said plainly. "What's the role?" she asked before taking a bite. It felt so good in her mouth, all buttery and warm, that it was an effort to swallow.

"I could be the hero's girlfriend in a new movie. He's a teenage alien. It's based on a book!"

Quinn had been expecting 'crack whore' or 'zombie' or something. Rachel looked fine. Lovely, really. She had a chest and hips, like a woman was supposed to have. She looked like she'd been drawn by an artist, and not someone who could only do stick figures, like Quinn.

It wasn't any of her business.

"Sounds like a big break."

"Not really. He dumps me pretty fast for Jennifer Lawrence. She's so talented."

"Does she have to go on a diet?"

"I didn't ask."

Quinn gestured with her fork like she was stabbing someone. "Fuck 'em. You look great. The casting director probably wants you to look like a boy because he's in the closet."

"Oh, I…"

Quinn pushed the potato between them. "We're splitting this. Eat."

Rachel slowly smiled as she held up another fork.. "I keep a second one for emergencies. Or in case a friend wants to share lunch with me."

Quinn took another bite. Why couldn't she mind her own business? It was what she wanted. Now here Rachel was, thinking they were friends.

"So you're really strong…" Rachel started.

"Pilates."

"That's cool. Maybe we could work out sometime. Or go jogging. I really hate jogging along. I always think I'm going to find a dead body."

Quinn grinned. "So you want me to find a dead body too?"

"Well… you're very clear-headed. You could call the police while I go into hysterics. It would make a great headline. 'Aspiring actress finds body.' I could get a CSI guest-spot out of that."

"Does CSI even film in New York?"

"Of course they do, one of the series is named CSI: New York."

They dove in for the potato at the same time and their hands brushed together. It was nothing, but Rachel ducked her head and giggled. It was like she was high on nitrous oxide or something. The thought struck Quinn that she had something to do with that.

Quinn looked at her, about to tell her off. It would be great to unload on her after all the cutesy bullshit, the knee socks, the _thing_ with Finn. But Rachel looked back.

Quinn impaled the potato. "I'm going to the new observatory opening. It's a work thing. You should come."

"Really?" Rachel asked, so smiley she could've been on drugs.

It was just to thank her for keeping Finn's stuff. That was all.

***

Santana was taking the garbage out when it happened. Usually Sam did it, but she had so much energy lately that two little bags were a cinch. It was only when she dropped them into the can that she realized how heavy they'd been. Then she heard the dog.

It was running toward her, that Great Dane that her neighbor always walked in the evening, since it fucking attacked people. Only he walked it without a leash and people still went outside after the sun set. Damn dog spent all day tied up with a cord, then suddenly it got unleashed.

Santana heard the neighbor yelling and the dog barked and she walked back to the house like nothing was happening, even if she could just picture that fucking mammal biting down on her.

She went inside and the dog jumped on the door, paws scratching at the glass pane, it was that big. She looked back at it, her eyes yellow slits.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Miss Fabray, this is a party. Let's dance. Find you someone to dance with. Whatever."

For the big night, Quinn put on her fancy gown. She wanted to look nice for once, really impress Rachel. Then she stopped at a picture she'd taken of Finn. She sat down with it, curled around its place in her lap like she was holding a baby, and when Kurt appeared in the glass's reflection, it almost wasn't a surprise.

"Ooh, nice shot. I think you caught his good side, he looks almost thoughtful."

Quinn closed her eyes. Kurt's voice just circled around her.

"Can we be honest, Quinnie? _He_ was never what you wanted. Why do you think I tried to take him away from you? No, you wanted to be liked, loved, respected, _feared_ …"

Quinn opened her eyes. There he was. Kurt Hummel. The Prom Queen. His impish face set above a femininely tailored suit, eyes sparkling with malevolence. She rose up from her chair with an uppercut, but it passed through his head like he was air.

He _was_ air, nothingness, her imagination. Kurt Hummel was locked up.

"You found a way to project yourself," Quinn said. "Or you've made yourself intangible or I’m going… how’d you do it?"

Kurt marched through her apartment and all she could do was follow him with his eyes. "I didn’t do anything. You’re doing this to yourself, hon."

"I’m _not_!" Quinn replied. "I'm not crazy, I'm just… I just need…"

"Quinn."

Finn's voice. It'd been so long since she'd heard his voice. He ran up to her and grabbed her arm (it'd been so long since she'd felt his touch) but his fingers passed through ("Just when I was having fun…" Kurt said) and Quinn reached for him but her hands passed through.

"Quinn, listen to me…" Finn said, his voice so firm and confident. She wanted him to tell her what to do. She wanted him to tell her anything.

His mouth kept moving, but all that came out as a dull whine. Like a bad TV signal.

Kurt could speak. He did. "This double standard of yours is very belittling, Quinn Fabray. How can you be so happy to see _him_ , but all you give me is the back of your hair?"

"You were never gone." Quinn turned her back on both of them. "You're not dead! You're not a ghost!"

"That's funny, because I certainly feel dead. You _left me_ feeling that way."

"I didn't kill you," Quinn insisted.

Kurt didn't circle back into her vision, but she could hear his voice in both ears, a whisper. "It's what you wanted, Fabray."

"I want a lot of things."

When Kurt spoke next, he was flopped down on the couch. "Like Rachel?" he asked, sprawled out.

Quinn spun around to face him, but he was gone.

Before she left, she changed into her casual business suit, the one she'd last worn at her high school graduation. It still fit, mercifully. She put on jewelry, took it off, settled for a nice bracelet and simple stud earrings.

***

Santana stopped brushing her teeth. Something about her reflection was different. Too much make-up, too little… She pressed a finger against her cheek. Harder. The skin sunk in for a brief moment before _cracking_ like desert ground. She jerked away, slipped, caught herself on the towel rack.

The sudden motion left something rattling in her pocket. First things first. She grabbed a Band-Aid from the medicine cabinet and covered up the crack on her cheek (underneath, something green). Only then did she fumble in her pocket, pull out a bloody dog's collar. The tags had been jingling together.

Her trip to the basement and back was halting. She had to maintain control with each step. When she pulled two bags of ice from the freezer, it was a little better. She could make her way back up the stairs without cramping. But when she saw herself in the bathroom mirror, the cracks had progressed outside the bandage, like a chisel had been taking to her. Underneath flaps of hanging flesh was glossy green skin.

She poured the ice into the bathtub and borrowed into it, turning on the cold water tap before she disappeared completely.

***

Sam got home dreading a talk with Santana. She'd been different lately. Off. The sex was great, but he'd gotten used to their relationship coming to an end. He'd been Vagoogling some nice ladies at the office and now she was clinging to him, resuscitating their relationship. Now it was like Frankenstein's monster. Just… staggering around.

Still, the sex was great.

Her car was in the driveway, but she didn't greet him when he came in through the door. Good; she'd been a little suffocating for the last few days. Then he walked through the house and didn't find her. No dinner in the oven, nothing. He went upstairs and only then did he notice the water dribbling down the steps. Bathroom. He went there and had to force the door open. The tub was overflowing, one pale hand hanging over the edge.

"Santana!" He grabbed onto it and pulled, his only thought to get Santana out.

The skin came off like a glove, strings of pus and blood coming off with it, a nauseating sound of ripping before the disembodied skin dropped to the floor.

"Jesus," Sam said as he looked into the bath. The water was tinged red… all the water was tinted, bloody, covering the floor and running out into the hall. Something that could only be skin floated on the surface. Underneath, Santana. Something like Santana.

Her eyes opened. Yellow, slit-pupiled. A crocodile's. Irrationally, he pulled the shower curtain closed. Through it, he saw the silhouette of Santana as she rose, thinner, crueler, like a blade. Her movements were too stilted to be human.

Sam reached for the curtain again. Santana moved in a flash, smashing open the ventilation window above the tub, crawling through the impossibly narrow opening with a sickening sound of bones contorting.

All Sam could think to do was turn the faucet off.

***

The observatory took up most of the Worth Building's roof, architecturally squaring the circle. There were a few meters' worth of clearance between the dome and the roof's parapets. The base of the observatory was a ring of glass windows with rolled-up shutters. If Quinn had looked at them, she could've seen her reflection, her silhouette reduced to just another figure among the buildings of the skyline.

She'd had a fine time. Met Rachel, drove her a ways, ate at the buffet, listened to the band. But it was so much more comfortable being alone. Just for a few minutes, looking out at the city, down at the rivers of light that made up the streets. It reminded her of when she'd first become a superhero; the joy of ascending the city and looking down at something no one else could see.

She leaned back, hands on the guardrail, letting herself just hang before pulling herself back.

"So is this a private pity party or can anyone come?" Rachel. Of course. She hadn't been an arm's length from Quinn through the whole party.

Quinn looked back at her. She actually looked great, a turquoise evening gown floating down to her knees and assuring anyone with eyes that she didn't need to lose a pound. It made Quinn feel a little shabby in her Hillary Clinton ensemble.

"Private," Quinn answered. "Or are you not familiar with the concept?"

Rachel's hands rocketed to her hips. "Miss Fabray, this is a party. Let's dance. Find you someone to dance with. Whatever."

"I hate dancing."

Rachel grabbed her hand and pulled, not really physically, more of an insinuation. "I'll have enough fun for both of us, come on."

When Quinn didn't budge, Rachel let her hand go. Then she leaned on the railing beside Quinn. Quinn scoffed, thinking they must look like honeymooners on a cruise ship.

Rachel looked out at the city, taking it in a way Quinn couldn't imagine doing. "It all looks so peaceful from up here, doesn’t it?"

"Yeah. It’s an amazing illusion."

"So I Googled you the other night," Rachel started again.

"You could at least buy me dinner first."

"You're more of a columnist than an investigative reporter. So what are you doing here? You should be writing this at home. Unless you just want to get outside, which is good…"

Quinn stopped leaning against the railing. Turned. "Do you know what my column was about?"

"Superheroes. Yeah, I liked it. What I could read of it, I mean, you have to be a member of the Daily Corner website to read them all…"

"I can't write that stuff anymore." Quinn crossed her arms, white-knuckling her hands on her shoulders. "The nobility of the superhero, the righteousness of the average citizen rising up against evil. It's bullshit. You think they make a difference?"

"Yes, I do. A superhero saved my life once." Rachel smiled dully, like it wasn't a painful memory.

Quinn wouldn't ask. She wouldn't. So she just took off her blazer and put it around Rachel.

"Just because your agent thinks you have a layer of protective blubber doesn't mean you won't freeze to death this high up," she said, cinching the jacket snugly around Rachel.

When Rachel wouldn't respond, Quinn decided to walk away before she could. She'd get her jacket back later.

Shit, there would have to be a later, wouldn't there?

Quinn mentally damned it to hell. Rachel could keep the jacket. It looked great on her anyway.

Inside, the good doctor Corbeau was still lecturing on his podium. The observatory was large, sparse, still waiting to be gummed up by the detritus of day-to-day work. The platform in the center seated the telescope and dominated the room, a staircase leading up to it.

"Now," Corbeau was saying, "the Conway Observatory has the honor of hosting the first telescope devoted to the study of cosmic radiation. With this new refractor..." He gestured to a crystalline device straddling the main telescope like an engine in the next Fast & Furious movie. It had lowered out of the telescope at his words. "We can finally filter through all of the electromagnetic spectrum."

Quinn raised her hand and barely waited for him to call on her before asking "Doctor, if your machine can distinguish between cosmic radiation, wouldn’t it be able to replicate it as well?" Her high school science courses hadn't been in vein.

"Yes, precisely. However, that’s largely a vestigial function. I don’t foresee any need to generate radiation…"

A scream from outside. Rachel! Quinn pivoted to see her with her hands up to her mouth in classic Hitchcock mode. More important was the thing that had just mounted the guard rail. Skin rough and jagged like a crocodile's. Flattened face with yellow eyes. A long, sinuous tail that twitched like a snake. A woman, by the tattered clothes.

"It's a… _Reptile_!" Rachel cried.

In a second, everyone was screaming, although not with the AMC poise of Rachel. In the running and confusion, no one noticed Quinn dashing out a backdoor and rolling over the guardrail.

She fell for half-a-second as she stripped down to her Cheerio uniform, then flung a ribbon up to catch the rooftop. It bungee'd her back up, over the telescope, and she landed on the other side of the roof to see the Reptile stalking toward Rachel as she screamed and screamed. It figured she wouldn't be much for survival instincts.

"Hey!" Quinn shouted, touching down, and the Reptile obligingly craned its head to her. "The Black Lagoon called. They want to know if you can make the high school reunion."

The Reptile roared… of course… and Quinn leapt at it to deliver a dropkick like an ICBM. She bounced right off, landing in the midst of the panicking crowd. She got kicked by more than a few dress shoes before vaulting back up. The Reptile chortled, exhaling condensed vapor from the slits of its nose like a mad bull.

Rachel screamed again.

"You wanna run?" Quinn yelled at her, just as the Reptile lunged and tackled her to the ground. They tumbled across the floor, plowing up more of the crowd as the Reptile tried to scratch her and she barely held it at bay. When they came to a rest, she thought she was overpowering it. Then it slithered out and around her grip, putting her in a chokehold. The next thing Quinn knew, a forked tongue was sniffing at her ear.

"Afraid…" it said, its voice an overbearingly sibilant rasp.

"You should be, suitcase!" Quinn retorted, whipping her head back to headbutt Reptile. It let go and she whirled around to deliver a roundhouse kick that sent the thing into a bank of computers. They exploded into sparks. Maybe the observatory wouldn't be opening just yet.

Quick-drawing her ribbons, Quinn cracked both, tying the Reptile's hands and feet in two pretty little bows. The Reptile just wrapped its tail around the ribbons and pulled, drawing Quinn in for a tail-whipping that sent her flying back into a trio of compressed hydrogen canisters. When her vision cleared, the legend 'Caution - Contents Under Pressure' filled her eyes.

As the Reptile charged, she knocked the bottom of a canister toward it and snapped off the cap. It went flying, bowling over the Reptile before continuing on to explode against the telescope. Quinn winced. So much for stargazing.

She picked up another one, but the Reptile leapt at her and she had to use it as a shield. Claws shredded the metal, sending streams of vapor pouring out. The thing was strong. Impossibly strong. It pushed the canister down against her throat, sending her to the ground and now choking her, the canister like a garrote.

Quinn flung her ribbons up, catching the telescope and pulling it off-course to cast its shadow on them. She tried to pull it down on top of the Reptile, but there was no air in her lungs. The Reptile was so strong and she was so weak and would it really be so bad, going to sleep like Finn had…

A piffling noise from a spray-can cut across her line of thought. Quinn opened her eyes to see Rachel holding pepper spray, dousing the Reptile's face with it, to no effect. At least she'd stopped screaming.

The Reptile smashed her with the canister, sending her flying. And so suddenly it was inexplicably, Quinn had pulled the telescope down and rolled out from under the Reptile as it was crushed. She ran toward Rachel at jet speed, lunged, caught her in mid-air and wrapped herself around the unconscious girl to protect her as they crashed through the window. They separated as they went over the edge, plummeted. It took Quinn a moment to get her bearings. The better part of her consciousness was still being strangled by the Reptile.

Then she saw Rachel, falling next to her.

It couldn't happen again. She wouldn't let it. Not to Rachel.

The ground was coming up fast, the air rushing by chilling Quinn to the bone. She threw out a ribbon to snag Rachel even as she threw out another to hit a flagpole on the side of the building. She pulled Rachel to her and let the second ribbon go taut. They arced, just missing the ground, Quinn contorting her body so they slid right between two dump trucks, then continued up until Quinn let go and they landed on another rooftop, where she set Rachel gently down.

"Don't, don't, don't, don't," Quinn chanted mindlessly, checking Rachel's vitals. Her heart was beating, her lungs were pumping, why weren't her eyes open? Was she like Finn? She couldn't be. God wouldn't do that to her twice.

Panicking beyond thought, Quinn pulled Rachel to her chest and started to sing. "As I went down in the river to pray, studying about that good ol' way, and who shall wear the starry crown? Good Lord, show me the way." The old lyrics spilled out hesitantly, softly, but as she realized what she was doing, she sang with a calm, confident fire. "O sisters, let's go down. Let's go down, come on down. O sisters, let's go down, down in the river to pray…"

Rachel stirred, groaned. Quinn's first thought was that it had worked. Then she thought of what she was doing, clinging to Rachel like a stuffed doll, especially when some beast was on the loose. It could've gotten away while she was coddling someone. Disgusted with herself, she hurriedly ascended back up to the observatory.

As she'd expected, the Reptile was gone. Quinn cursed herself as she looked around for clues; she wouldn't have much time before the cops arrived.

It looked as if Dr. Corbeau's vaunted refractor was gone, torn free of its moorings. And where the telescope had pinned the Reptile down there were still a few shreds of clothing. Quinn morosely looked through them. They were bloody and grimy, but had definitely once been a woman's blouse. And then her hand closed on something leather. Quinn held it up. A wallet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Anyone here keep a man-sized iguana as a pet?"

Brittany showed up before Sam could call her. He'd already called all of Santana's other friends, trying to find out if any of them knew where she was, but he hesitated when it came to Brittany. Somehow, it felt like defeat, calling her. Then she showed up on his doorstep and told him she was worried about Santana.

The coffee he fixed for them tasted alright, under the circumstances. That was all he could focus on for more than a few seconds. He was grateful he'd served his girlfriend's lover a good cup of coffee.

"We should call the police," Brittany said, with a brief nod to herself. "I could tell them what she was wearing last. Black bra, black panties…"

Sam looked at her. "I tried that. She hasn't been gone for twenty-four hours yet. They won't do anything until then. I saw her rip the skin off her face and they won't look for her."

"Maybe she had a sunburn."

In a fit of motion, Sam scooped up his coffee and went to pour it down the sink. "Damn. Goddamn it." He washed the cup out but left the faucet running. After a moment of listening to the rushing water, he could talk again. "You knew she was with me. Why'd you fuck her, huh? If you're so sweet and so kind and so innocent, how the fuck can you do this to me?"

It was a little creepy, how flat Brittany could be sometimes. She stared at the coffee. She talked like he wasn't there. "Santana told me you didn't. She told me you make her comfortable. And you're with her for the salsa spice."

The water flowed off the cup and over his hands and made him drop it into the sink. He didn't notice. "I don't… how can she… fuck you."

She looked at him and he realized why she talked so low, kept looking at her feet. Her eyes were red, beacons of hurt and betrayal, and when they focused on him he felt like the world was coming to an end. "I've been to the dance studio where we met. I've been to the Chinese place we like to get our nails done. I've been everywhere I can think she would go ever since she stopped answering her phone. And you've been here. Thinking about how bad it would be if she never came back. Thinking who would do your laundry. How long you would wait before trying to find someone else. How hard it would be to find someone else. If you loved her, you couldn't imagine a world without Santana in it."

The knock at the door made them both think of Santana. Brittany rushed to answer it.

"Who's there?"

"The golden-haired goddess," the answer came.

Brittany looked at Sam, wondering if he was as confused as she was. He was.

"Umm, if you're selling something, could you come back later? Our girlfriend is missing and we're saving our money in case there's a ransom demand."

Santana's wallet dropped through the mail slot. "Sure about that?" the voice insisted.

Sam ran to Brittany and threw open the door. The Cheerio was hanging idly from the porch's roof, and when he opened up, she threw herself down onto the doormat. "Anyone here keep a man-sized iguana as a pet?"

***

Sam had explained it to Brittany, but it hadn't made sense, not even to him. With both him and Brittany talking, and going into detail on Santana's research, he figured it out almost before the Cheerio.

"Did she keep any notes?"

"In her desk," Sam said, pointing to the old wooden desk in the study. As the Cheerio hurried over to it, he added "It's locked, though. I don't have the..."

Cheerio put one hand on the drawer and ripped it free of the desk. "Don't worry. It was open." She ruffled through the papers, coming up with a folder. "Well, this looks science-y."

"Can you help her?" Sam demanded.

"I'll be honest with you. I wasn't big on science back in high school. But I know a guy who could help."

Sam sighed. "God bless you, Cheerio."

"Not lately, no."

***

Quinn stepped outside to swing away, stopping under a streetlight to give one last look through Santana's files, just in case she had attached A Complete Idiot's Guide To Reversing Monsterification. She hadn't. Quinn growled under her breath. Dumb bitch. Trying to change things that shouldn't be changed. Who did that? You faced facts. That was all you did. All you could do.

A sniffle caught her ear, and Quinn whirled to see the blonde, Brittany, coming out of that house. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and strolled up to Quinn, looking like she didn't know what she would say until she said it.

"You're going to fix Santana," Brittany said. Not a question.

"I'll try."

"She's a good person. She doesn't know it, but she is. She makes people feel better. And I don't… know what they'd do… without her."

"You and her…" Quinn said. Not a statement.

"I do like her. A lot." Brittany looked at Quinn. Really looked at her. "Please save her. I don't know what I'd do without her."

Quinn looked back. At fear that would die away into numbness. Numbness that would fall even further, into apathy. Apathy that would become routine. A routine that would one day break down and leave behind something raw and bleeding and piteous.

"You'd live."

***

Another trip out of the suburbs. Quinn waited in the shadows, not wanting to take off her (sweaty, bloody) costume just yet. She hopped on the first bus she found, knowing it would take her back to the city. From her perch on the roof, the breeze hit her nicely, pushing the sweat off her body. The wetness on her face didn't go away.

That blonde had cut Quinn deeper than her lizard girlfriend had.

"Hey," Finn said. "You okay?"

Quinn tried to ignore him, but it was hard when he started drying her face with a towel.

"You're crying," he said, mystified.

Quinn broke down. "Gone!" she sobbed, maybe meaning to preface it with a word like 'you' or 'we'. She sucked her tears in. "What are you doing here?"

"Eh, I got a little bored of lying around in my hospital room. There just isn't much entertainment. 'Oh, my eyelids don't have holes in them. Oh, my eyelids still don't have holes in them.'"

"This isn't real. This can't be happening."

Quinn closed her eyes and Finn was quiet. When she opened them, he was lying on the roof in front of her. His eyes were looking at her, but she knew they weren't really, he wasn't really there, he was asleep in a hospital room and she…

She couldn't keep that.

She bent over Finn, almost praying to him, her voice low and rough.

"Please. Stop. Just let me go. I can't take anymore. Stop haunting me. Either wake up or... or..."

The thought cut through her head. It wouldn't come out. It brought too much relief.

"I can't live in a world where I can see you, hear you, but not touch you. The both of us trapped in some sort of twilight. People shouldn't live this way. I'd give everything up in an instant if it would bring you back. Everything I am… everything I've become."

But she couldn't make that trade.

***

She couldn't very well ask her friend for help while dressed as an infamous superhero… he might recognize her… so Quinn disappeared into an abandoned subway station three blocks from her apartment and emerged five minutes later in a cheap sweatsuit she'd set aside for the occasion. The bruises she'd found on her body had surprised her—the Reptile had hit harder than she'd thought. But she'd have time for a shower and painkillers before taking a cab to the scientist.

She'd just keep moving. Like a shark, she'd stay alive so long as she never…

"Quinn!"

It was Rachel. That was all she needed. Quinn rolled her eyes before looking over at her friend. She'd been heading up the stoop into her apartment building and there was Rachel, sitting on the steps. Seeing Quinn, she jumped up to display another ridiculous outfit. Polka dots were involved.

"Hi," Quinn said, buzzing herself in..

"What's wrong?" Rachel demanded. "You look like you've been—"

"What's wrong?" Quinn repeated. She held the door open, sticking her face out to talk to Rachel. "You get grabbed by some freakazoid and then you ask me what's wrong?"

"Oh. You care."

Quinn was taken back. "I don... I'm just surprised that you almost got... and then you want to know what's wrong with me…"

"Yeah, but, I'm fine though. You don't look as good. I mean, you're very attractive, and I usually find you very attractive, but… at the moment…"

"I got hit by a car," Quinn said.

"What?"

Quinn shrugged. It made her shoulder hurt. "There's a reason jaywalking is illegal."

"You got hit by a car after we were attacked by a monster?" Rachel asked.

"Guess I shouldn’t have pissed off that gypsy, huh?" Quinn shook her head and felt her vision swim with the effort. Christ, she was more banged up than she'd thought. "Don't listen to me, I'm a little loopy... musta been exciting, being saved by the Cheerio..."

"Yeah!" Rachel nodded wildly. "It was. Almost... fun. Can I come in?"

"Why?"

Rachel's hands orbited each other helplessly. "I just don't want you to be alone right now."

She wouldn't shut up about it. Quinn could just tell. "Come on up."

***

Somehow, it was only when Quinn reached into her pocket for her keys that she realized her hands were shaking. Seeing Rachel again, she couldn't put away the image of Rachel after the Reptile had hurt her, unconscious, almost dead. Quinn tried to unlock her door. Rachel had followed close enough behind her to grab her hand and steady it so she could turn the key.

Quinn shoved through the door. The nearest chair was waiting for her to flop down in. "You really need to leave me alone now."

Before she could protest, Rachel was in the kitchen, looking through Quinn's food. "Don't talk like that," Rachel chided, almost a little playful. "I'll start to think you're not a nice person. Do you want hot cocoa? You have everything here to make hot cocoa."

Quinn gave in to having Rachel play nursemaid. She'd overplayed her hand with that car accident story. "Just some water would be fine."

In a flash, Rachel was back to hand Quinn a glass. "You're not alone, you know."

Quinn just looked at her over the lip of the glass she drank from.

"Why do you always push me away?" Rachel was just standing there, still close enough to hand Quinn something, and she wasn’t backing away. In fact, she was leaning in close to Quinn, supporting herself with a hand on Quinn's knee. "Why can't you let me in?"

"Because I'm not a nice person." Moving as carefully as a surgeon with a scalpel, Quinn put her hand between Rachel's neck and shoulder, where it could only be platonic, and gently pushed her away. "And I am alone. More than you're ever know."

"You don't have to be."

"Yes I do. But you don't have to worry about me. I'm fine. He's not but I am."

Rachel went to the door with a sniffle. Quinn listened to her footsteps and wished she would leave. Hoped she would stay. And Rachel turned around in the doorway, melodramatic to the bone. "It really worries me when you make a statement like that, Quinn Fabray!"

Quinn shrugged and set her glass down, watching the ripples in the water. "It's the truth. If it weren't for me, Finn would be up and about right now. Smiling. Happy…"

Finn was watching her. So was Kurt. She could feel their eyes and she knew how to blind them.

The beer in the fridge was Finn's. Quinn didn't even like beer, but she liked the place it took her to, where everything floated. And it wasn't like he was using it.

"What are you doing?" Rachel asked. She still hadn't left.

"Taking the edge off."

"Don't. One of my dads had an alcohol problem when my other dad left him and…"

Quinn spoke over her. "Finn didn't _leave_ , he was _taken_ from me—"

Rachel snatched the bottle from Quinn. Quinn looked at her in shock as she put it back in the refrigerator and closed the door, standing in front of it like an armed guard. "You act like you're the one lying in that hospital bed instead of him."

Quinn laughed and shook her head. "That would be fair, wouldn't it?"

"There are better ways."

"Really?" Quinn scoffed. "Because I have been running down the list and I can't find one." She laughed again. She was on the verge of hysteria, she needed to stop the Reptile, but this apartment, this talk, this girl was her world for the moment. It was so important that Rachel understand she had to give up on her.

"You can let someone help you," Rachel said, pouring herself into each word.

Quinn blinked. "Like I let Finn help me?"

For a long time, they were quiet. Then Quinn walked back down to her chair and sat. Rachel stayed in the kitchen, watching, like she was just another ghost.

When Rachel next spoke, it came at the tail of such a long pause that it jolted Quinn out of a reverie. "You don't talk about him. You can, though. I'll listen."

"What's there to say? We were boring. Annoyingly, boringly, stupidly happy. So much happiness on the inside that none of it leaked out. Like getting into a cold pool and feeling your body temperature change just enough. We were set for the long haul. All we were going to do was go from a sapling to an oak tree. I'm changed so much since then… felt myself scar. I don't want him back. I want to rewind it, you know, like a video… start over. Memorize every moment. I wouldn't have gotten annoyed with him so much, we would've been different… I would've gotten to Kurt before he'd done it."

Rachel had gotten close during Quinn's little speech, as if trying to hear every unshed tear. "You can start over," Rachel said, before Quinn could lose herself in thought again. "You have everything you need. Your health. A job. Friends. Good friends."

Quinn shook her head. No. Not without Finn. She was nothing without him. Just pain and rage wrapped up in rage and pain.

"Yes," Rachel insisted, turning the word into a rallying cry. She fell to her knees in front of Quinn, taking her hands and squeezing them like she was trying to rub warmth into someone suffering from hypothermia. "You have good friends because you are a good friend. You have me."

Rachel held on. Quinn didn't know what she could say to make her let go.

The brunette shook her head in disbelief. "This is hilarious. There are only three people in my life who really know me and one of them is manic-depressive."

Quinn stood, suddenly horrified. What was she doing? Why did she keep coming here, being Rachel's BFF just because they had Finn in common? "I know nothing about you. We're not—We can't be. I don't know you." She pulled Rachel to her feet.

"You could," Rachel said. Quinn had brought them face to face.

Quinn turned away. Rachel pulled her back, yanked her down into a kiss that hit Quinn like a syringe of adrenaline. It'd been a long time since she'd felt the simplest human touch. A hand. A hug. Rachel's kiss was like a double dose, filling her with warmth, overloading her. And Quinn was still processing it as Rachel barked at her.

"Listen to me, Quinn Fabray, I do not need 'will they or won't they' in my life. Right now, you're going to stop saying 'let's do this' out of one corner of your mouth and 'stay away, stay away' out the other. Make a choice. Call me. I want to be there for you, Quinn, I really do. Just let me."

She walked. Quinn didn't look at her. She just heard the door open and then Rachel's perfectly dramatic parting shot.

"Some day you might want to start having people to depend on. But maybe they won't be there."

Quinn turned, but the door was already shut. And Kurt was there.

"They're already gone," he said.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reptilian center of the brain must be gaining dominance.

Showered and dressed at least semi-fashionably, Quinn paid a call to her scientist friend. She used her reporting job as an excuse and laid out what she'd learned in the guise of an interview.

"So what you're saying, doctor, is that the transformation Ms. Lopez is going through is affecting her mentally as well as physically."

"Yes. The reptilian center of the brain must be gaining dominance. By trying to remove her lesbian feelings, Santana has inadvertently censored all emotions: compassion, pity, remorse. She'll become more aggressive, murderous even. And I see no reason for the process to stop. She'll become less and less human with each day."

"I know this isn't your area of expertise, but… do you think your scientific expertise could be at all helpful in creating an antidote?"

Mike Chang took off his glasses. "Not my area of expertise? I'm Asian, aren't I?"

***

Most people thought the city stopped at the street. If they thought it was a trick question, the sewers. If they were right, they thought thirty stories down, to a room so large and rounded it could've been a Roman arena, but the expensive, old-fashioned décor marked it as another kind of decadence.

Walls tiled in murals depicted the fortunes of Vanderbilt, Rockefeller, and other great names of the Gilded Age. Waiting rooms with mirrors, sofas, fancy stained glass. Gaslight fixtures, once beautiful, now skeletal. A fallen crystal chandelier in the middle of the floor. Hydraulic elevators with parquet flooring and velvet curtains. The ceiling a great dome tiled in mirrors that were now shattered. They hovered above the Reptile like a ruined sky. And everything warped and twisted by flood damage.

A perfect place for the Reptile to go about its work.

The refractor laid in pieces, thrown aside except for the pieces needed. Other equipment laid nearby, waiting to be added to the growing project. Santana had been busy. Her jury-rigged machine was taking shape. A few more parts and it'd be complete.

Then it caught a glimpse of her reflection, through the doorway into a waiting room, where a dusty mirror showed what it'd become. The snout of a raptor, nostrils on either side flaring and exhaling condensed vapor like a mad bull. Talons ripping out of its feet, a spike in the heel adding traction. Fins ripping through its worn coat along the spine.

For a moment it wanted nothing more than to see Brittany one last time, to say goodbye while the words still lingered in its mouth. But it couldn't. And in a lightning flash of movement, Santana was at the hole ripping apart one end of the station. A long drop led to the ocean.

It jumped.

***

When she'd told him about the items the Reptile had been spotted taking, Mike Chang had come up with a working theory of what it was building. And Santana needed just one more piece to finish.

So Quinn was on stake-out, her bright costume concealed in the shadows as she watched the massive skyscraper where the world's only functional Lecter Transfunctioner was kept. A seven-foot-tall dinosaur wouldn't be hard to spot. Still, she kept an eagle eye out, scanning every face, every movement. It kept her from thinking of that kiss.

Her lips still tingled and something unclaimed electrified her body. She couldn't even think of Rachel. The sight of her made Quinn want to pull those ridiculous clothes off once and for all.

Night fell. Her body wouldn't be still. This was a waste of time, a snipe hunt, but Quinn didn't dare leave. She didn't want to run into Rachel again. There was nothing in her other life that interested her.

Her breathing raced. Her head and heart pounded. She needed something, now. She'd abused her body for too long and now it was rebelling.

She thought of Finn. His smile. His dancing. His coma. And tears came, her entire body's frustration channeled into sobs that buffeted her like gusts of wind. He was gone. He would never wake up. And she might as well be too, because she had nothing and no one. She was a zombie, dead but still carrying out some meaningless task.

Then she saw the silhouette of the Reptile, scaling the building by the light of the full moon. And the emptiness was gone, replaced by a rage so deep it was intoxicating.

***

The Lecter Transfunctioner scraped as the Reptile swallowed it whole. It would be safe there until later.

"You know what's depressing? How lame you are," a female voice chimed. The Reptile whirled around, its tail slicing through one of the many cubicle walls surrounding her. The Cheerio stood with her ribbons at the ready. "All those scales and that pretty smile, I thought maybe you'd have a cool backstory, but you're just another freak… Santana."

It roared and Quinn scooped up an office chair to break over the Reptile's head, softening it up for a right hook that sent it through several rows of cubicles. But with one deft flick of its tail, the Reptile was up and charging back at Quinn. She ran right at it, fist cocked, and they both threw punches in an unstoppable collision.

Every window on the floor blew out simultaneously, followed by Quinn flying out an empty window frame. She smacked into the building across the street, cracking the concrete, needing a moment to shake the cobwebs out. As she recovered, the Reptile escaped down the side of the building, crawling like a gecko.

Quinn's anger set her on fire. She kicked off the building, shooting a ribbon up to wrap around the struts of the windows she'd just flown through, and swung down to hit the Reptile like a rolled-up newspaper catching a fly.

The impact carried them through the office, shedding a fountain of tempered glass, people diving aside as the wrecking ball of grappling bodies rampaged through computers, copiers, and office furniture. Finally they slapped against the opposite window, which cracked but held. The Reptile immediately sprang for freedom, but Quinn grabbed its tail.

"This is gonna hurt," she noted for the record as she flung them both through the window.

***

"It did hurt," Quinn muttered, lying on the cracked pavement of a freeway. They'd landed in the breakdown lane and cars rocketed by, buffeting them with riptide. Across from her, the Reptile twitched, its bulging chameleon eyes moving independently of each other.

"I know what you're trying to do," Quinn told it. "All the parts you've stolen... it won't work. The machine will only make things worse."

"Worse?" The Reptile huffed a croaking laugh. "Before, I was weak. Now, I can do anything. And I will cure the rest of the world. When they'll all like me, it'll be utopia. No more messy emotions, no more complicated relationships. Tell me you wouldn't like it better that way. No one dresses up as a cheerleader and fights crime without some major issues."

The words hit, but Quinn's anger rushed in to fill the holes they left. "Yeah, I know, we're all monsters on the inside, yadda yadda, let's just skip ahead to the part where I win. Although if you insist, we can pause at beating the hell out of each other."

The Reptile lunged up roaring and Quinn stuffed her baton into its mouth, shooting the ribbon out to snag a passing tour bus. Even as the Reptile swallowed, it was jerked along, dragged behind the bus. But it didn't take long for it to start clambering up to the bus it was tied to.

Quinn went after it, leaping onto a passing car and, with a running start, jumping to another one closer to the Reptile. She didn't let her momentum drop, but kept moving like she was jumping across stepping stones... if the stepping stones were all driving at 70 mph.

The car she was aiming for changed lanes. Quinn overshot and landed against a massive tanker truck; kicking off it, she managed to snag the safety railing on the open top bus. Her body slapped against the bus's frame just as the Reptile slithered past her, throwing itself into the midst of the passengers. Quinn flew up and over the edge and ran after it, past rows of screaming tourists, only to see the Reptile leaping from the front of the bus.

Quinn snapped out her baton and caught its foot with her ribbon, ripping the Lizard back into the windshield of the bus. It pulled itself inside as Quinn rushed after it. She looked over the side to see it holding a claw to the bus driver's throat. Then the bus swerved, nearly throwing Quinn off as it took an off-ramp, hitting yellow collision barrels, flecking Quinn with the water inside.

Quinn went with the motion. It was just like she was back in high school, buoyed by the crowd and her teammates and the noise of the cheers, only now it was waves of anger and pain. She flipped up and over the safety railing, using it to swing down through a window in the bus's first level and kick the Reptile into the bus door. The impact knocked the doors off their hinges, and as the Reptile snagged the steps' handrail with its tail, the door landed through the windshield of a parked car.

The Reptile flung itself back into Quinn, knocking her into the driver's seat and cramming the driver underneath them. The bus swerved out of control, bulldozing through a parked car and fender-bending a storefront before continuing down a sidewalk, plowing through parking meters like they were cornstalks. As Quinn and the Reptile struggled, coins and uprooted meters scattered through the destroyed windshield.

Lizard or not, Santana was at least a girl lizard. Quinn headbutted her in the tit, and when the Reptile winced, she tackled it out the door. They landed on the sidewalk, Quinn on top, riding the Reptile as momentum dragged it over the pavement. She punched it just because it was there. Finally, the sidewalk ended, they hit a patch of moist dirt and rolled over each other, still trading punches, before Quinn landed in a puddle of muddy water. She heard the sound of mud sucking at feet as the Reptile ran once more.

Her body ached as she got up. Even she wasn't good with falling out of a building and a bus on the same day. And her costume was dirty as hell. And she was missing a baton. She wiped the smut from her face and mask as best she could, and saw the World's Fair in front of her.

If the Reptile wasn't inside, who'd smashed the ticket-taker's booth?

She jumped over it and ribboned her way to the top of a circus wheel, looking out at the carnival. Santana, the Reptile, was somewhere out there. Quinn panted on adrenaline. She hadn't been in a fight this rough since the Prom Queen. Unbidden, it occurred to her she might die. Her parents would freak the fuck out. Rachel would miss her.

 _Focus._ The Reptile was climbing a gargantuan metal sculpture in the middle of the carnival, a post-millennial version of the stainless steel globe from the '64 World's Fair. Strands inside formed a complex network, like a half-melted web.

Quinn jumped off the circus wheel, swung off the top of a Test Your Strength pole, and smashed into the Reptile. The impact carried them inside the globe, metal bars snapping under Santana. Almost immediately the Reptile spun them around, knocking Quinn deeper into the framework and bending a bar around her neck. Then it slithered out, its body contorting and squeezing together bonelessly to get to the bottom.

Quinn pulled at the metal bar, not sure if she couldn't get enough air or if she was panicking, but either way wanting it _off_. Then she heard the globe ripping loose of its moorings. She could still crane her head enough to see the Reptile pushing the globe from its base.

"Shit," Quinn muttered, as the globe started to roll, pick up speed. As a superhero, she usually never swore, but when the occasion called for it—

The bar around her neck started to bend. She got her fingers in the small gap that had been created between her throat and the metal and pulled with all her strength. She tried not to throw up as the world spun around her. Rachel would never get to tell her—she'd never get to tell Rachel—

With a scream of frustration, the bar broke in two. Gravity pulled Quinn loose and she dropped against some more bars, shockingly cool after the body-hot one around her neck. Then the globe smashed into a funhouse and Quinn was thrown down, smacking her ribs against another bar before dropping out the globe and through a ceiling and into a floor covered in dry ice.

She gave herself no time to regain her breath, pulling herself up to look for her enemy, and saw herself. Lots of herself. She was in a forced perspective room, an army of distorted reflections surrounding her. She looked like hell, blood soaking the side of her uniform from a cut she didn't even know she'd got. But Quinn still gripped her baton, waiting for the Reptile to—

Santana smashed through a mirror behind her, charging her and ramming her through another mirror and a wall and down into a tunnel of stagnant water. Quinn was pinned against a set of tracks for the Reptile to slash her across the chest. Blood sprayed, mingling with the scream Quinn let out. She turned the pain into fight, punching the Reptile hard enough to hear bones break, but it grabbed her by the throat and slammed her head against the tracks, hard, hard, hard, until light shone in her eyes.

A tram full of young couples was coming toward them. They were in the tunnel of love.

Quinn punched it in the place where she'd heard bones crack, and this time something jagged happened. The Reptile hissed and fell back and Quinn pushed away from the tracks before the tram could hit her. She dropped into the water, finding it red with her own blood. Before the Reptile could come for her again, she shot a ribbon out to the tram and let it drag her away for a chance to breath.

***

When the tram came to a stop, Quinn had ripped out enough ribbon to at least cover up her wounds. She didn't know if it counted as bandaging. And she still felt out of breath as she limped away from the tunnel of love. Distantly, she could hear screams, but distantly. More and more distant. The Reptile was leaving. Getting away. And she was letting it.

She needed to get away too. Nearby was a fence and beyond it, all the trees anyway could ever want. She still had strength enough to hop the fence, but there was a black moment in the middle and somehow she ended up on the ground, grass tickling her. She staggered up and away from the lights of the carnival, the growing crowd. Tree branches scratched at her. She gestured incoherently at them, ripping some down, her strength just enough to rip the bark of some trees before she tripped over a root. The ground wasn't comfortable, but it didn't hurt her.

"Finn…" she said.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm beginning to think God's not on my side."

"That really her?"

"Looks like her."

"She dead?"

"Can't be dead, she's the Cheerio."

"You shoulda seen her taking it to that dragon thing earlier! It's gotta be her!"

"Get her mask."

"No. Get her blouse. I wanna take a picture."

Quinn felt a hand pulling her shirt up. She grabbed the wrist and it snapped like a twig. Another man. She kicked him in the leg and he fell; she rolled over and elbowed him in the gut so blood came out his mouth.

Getting up, Quinn began to walk. It was morning out. The sun was in her eyes.

***

When Quinn came out of the forest, it was into the suburbs. A lot of houses like the one Santana and Sam had shared. One had a clothesline. She pulled down a T-shirt that looked like it would fit her and jeans that looked like they would fit anyone, then ran. It was only when she was back in the woods that she looked at the shirt. Plain white, with black letters on the front spelling out "Likes girls."

Beggars couldn't be choosers.

***

Quinn held her side as she walked into the church. She'd been set on walking her way back to the city, at least far enough to get to the subway, but seeing the cross towering above her made her want to talk. It was only inside that she realized it was a Catholic church. Just like where Finn died. Was injured.

Became dead to her.

She stumbled into a confessional, not wanting to face anyone head-on. She wouldn't be able to explain the bruises and blood that clung to her face, even though she'd washed herself in a backyard sprinkler. Quinn put her head against the side and closed her eyes. The darkness was soothing, even after she'd been out for God knew how long.

"What troubles you?" came a voice. Male voice. Old voice.

"I can't... beat it. I just can't. It's too strong."

"All things are possible with God, my child."

"I'm beginning to think God's not on my side."

"God is always on the side of the righteous."

Quinn was silent. Lusting after Rachel, letting Finn get hurt, all the people she'd hurt and people she'd let go…

"You know what Nietzsche says?" Quinn asked, haltering. Even her voice felt weak. “'Even the strongest have their moments of fatigue.' Why fight? It doesn't want my help. It likes what it is. I don't want to fight anymore. It's not my problem. It's just not my problem."

***

Rachel was waiting at her stoop when Quinn got back. She'd had to lie about losing her Metro card at the subway, and the manager, a woman, gave her a free ride, promised to mail her a replacement. Then she shook Quinn's hand and slipped a card into it. When Quinn read it, it told her something wasn't her fault and had an 800 number.

She ripped it into little pieces on the ride over, let them flutter to the floor and shake with the train's motion. She was too tired to sleep, bone-aching weariness, and that was the only reason she made her stop. Then she hauled herself to her apartment. She wanted to sleep and never wake up and then there Rachel was. Quinn would have to gladhand her and defuse her, or else she'd be all hurt and pouty. And for some reason Quinn didn't want Rachel's hurt feelings to come from her. Too much pain going around for it to be her fault.

"Oh my God, your face!" Rachel ran up to her and before Quinn could protest, some of the weight was off her feet and on Rachel. "And don't worry, I wasn't taking your god's name in vain, that was my god. The one that doesn't like ham."

"Great…"

"So what happened? Do you need a doctor?"

"I headbutted a lizard in the tit." Suddenly, Quinn's feet weren't where she'd left them. She slipped out of Rachel's arms and onto the sidewalk, just managing to skin her hands instead of her face.

Rachel's hands gripped her firmly, and part of Quinn's mind seemed to detach and think that _finally_ , someone was touching her, not like she would break, but like she could be put back together.

Quinn shoved her away as soon as she was up. "Get away from me! I don't need you! I don't need anyone! No one!"

She had to pull herself up the stairs on hands and knees. The only reason she didn't yell more at Rachel was because she didn't want people to stare. Her whole mind was going black. She was virulently hungry, thirsty for something and she didn't know what.

Rachel was following her.

"What are you looking at, huh? I told you I didn't need your help."

"I heard you the first time."

"Then why are you still here!?" Quinn demanded.

"Because I need to help you."

And despite anger so vast it shook Quinn, trying to fit inside her, Rachel skipped in front of her and got the door. She held it as Quinn went inside and collapsed on the couch, curled in on herself. Then she closed the door to a crack, just open enough to put her head in. "I'll be right outside."

She shut the door.

***

A double dose of Percocet should've ensured Quinn had a deep, dreamless sleep, but she woke up flailing, waving her hands at nightmares. One of her wounds had reopened and then closed, the blood gluing her to the couch. She ripped herself free and went to the bathroom, where she washed off in the shower with her costume on, scrubbing at herself for half an hour until her scabs littered the drain.

She left her costume on, ripped and wet, and put her clothes on over it, swapping out the jeans for her own leggings. Then her thoughts returned to Rachel like a stray dog that'd gotten table scraps once and now kept returning to the site of that one boon. Quinn went to her front door and there Rachel was, sitting cross-legged in the hallway outside, doing throat exercises.

"Are you stalking me?" Quinn demanded.

"No, you just wouldn't answer your phone."

Quinn's phone had probably been washed into a sewer by now. She used to be better about not mixing skintight costumes with personal possessions.

"Well, I'm fine," Quinn insisted. "So why don't you pack up and go… comparison-shop belt sanders, or whatever you like to do!"

She moved to close the door.

"Finn woke up!" Rachel squeaked.

Quinn froze. Literally couldn't think of how to move. "What? But, the doctors, they said he wouldn't…" To her own ears, her voice was suddenly petulant.

"I mean, he didn't… he's back in the coma, there was only a change for a few minutes, but that's good, I mean, the doctors say he could be getting better, I wanted you to know as soon as I could, but then you were hurt and I…"

Quinn banged her hand on the doorframe. It went in, her fingers embedding themselves through the wood and into the wall. Rachel made another squeaky sound of concern and soothingly helped her pull her hand clear.

"He was awake," Quinn gritted out, though the words hurt her throat on the way out. "What did he say?"

"I don't know. By the time the nurses got there—"

"You don't _know_ …"

"The doctors have him under closer observation now, they're going to do an MRI to see if surgery can help…"

"He was alone..." The words hurt, but it was a good, clean hurt. She was supposed to be hurt. "He woke up and no one was there." She looked at Rachel and Rachel touched her face and she was wiping away tears Quinn didn't even know she was crying. "I wasn't there... why wasn't I there?"

"It's not your fault."

Rachel said that. Anger stopped the tears in Quinn's eyes, woke her up when she was so, so tired. Rachel fucking Berry. Finn's friend who he'd never told her about. Comforting her, supporting her, so she'd come to rely on the little bitch. Rachel was the one making her weak, making her think of a girl that way.

"It is my fault," Quinn hissed. She shoved Rachel back. "It's _all_ my fault and you're the one making it worse by trying to fix everything and absolve me and fucking _sleep_ with me."

"That's not why I'm here!" Rachel insisted. "I'm sorry if I put any pressure on you, but I thought you were attracted to me and I thought you were giving me the runaround, so perhaps I overreacted, but I would never do anything to hurt you—"

"Fuck you, Berry. Just get the fuck out of my sight and don't come back here with your… with your fucking _pity!_

"Quinn," Rachel said, hurt, really hurt, and Quinn shoved her out the door, onto her back, hurting her more.

"Leave me alone!" Quinn roared as she slammed the door.

***

"God called while you were out," Kurt whispered in her ear.

Quinn kept her eyes shut. She just needed to get some sleep. It felt like it'd been years since she'd had a good night's rest. She just wanted to sleep. Santana wasn't her problem. She'd tried. She'd failed. She was done.

"He said He was sorry about all that dead family stuff," Kurt went on, playing with her hair, "and that He'll be making it up to you as soon as possible."

He wasn't there. He couldn't be there.

"You keep going like this, Fabray, you're going to die. You will literally be caught dead in that outfit."

"So what?" Quinn growled. "Without Finn..."

"Finn, Finn, Finn, always with _Finn_ …" Quinn felt Kurt's weight settle on the end of the couch she wasn't curled up on. "He's the real threat, Quinn. Maybe you expect this stuff from me, I am evil after all. And he's an ex, so not much of a difference there. But I've been trying to help you." His hand, cold as the grave, patted her thigh. "I know you're ashamed of me, but who got us through your parents? Who got us through superpowers and losing our virginity? A little credit where credit is due."

Quinn opened her eyes. Kurt sat in the chair across from her, like he was a psychologist and she was his patient. He was dressed mutely in dark business clothes, the kind of unfashionable fashion the real Kurt wouldn't be caught dead in.

"Kurt?" Quinn asked, suddenly very afraid and not knowing why.

Kurt smiled and seemed to grow larger. "Not for a while now, hon. And not to beat off a dead guy, but if you put half as much effort into being all superheroic as you did into distracting yourself from your self-loathing, you'd probably still have Finny-winny."

"Fine. It's all in my head. Then I want to talk to him. I want to talk to Finn."

Piano music made Quinn turn her head and when she did, she saw Kurt sitting at a piano, playing his heart out. "Aww, honey, you just don't get it? I'm your will to survive. Finn is the other part. You're not seeing him because you don't need him anymore. It's back to basics. Remember high school? Oppressive family, crap atmosphere, 16 & Pregnant? I protected you and then you think you don't need me anymore because you _met a boy._ Well, you couldn't depend on him and you can't depend on anyone else."

Quinn wouldn't answer him. He turned. She was closer than he'd thought, holding a steak knife. The grip cracked with the pressure she was putting on it.

"You need me, Quinn," he said simply. "I kept you alive."

"You shouldn't have." The knife plunged into the base of his spine.

She let go. Kurt's mouth moved wordlessly before coming alive to cough blood onto the piano music book. He slumped onto the keyboard with a crescendo of noise, then fell off it sideways. The noise of his corpse sliding from one end of the keyboard to the other shot a frilly tune into the air, which echoed into nothingness as Quinn stood still.

***

Entering Finn's old apartment, it was hard for Quinn not to think in metaphors. Empty. Barren. All the happy memories she had with Finn had been taken, tied up with his possessions, leaving nothing but blank shadows on the walls and floors. She wanted them back.

Her eyes shut. "Finn? I know I'm not okay and you can't really hear this. I know that. I don't want to know that. I want you back, I want us back… please, just be there when I open my eyes. I don't care anymore."

She opened her eyes and he was there. His smile, his lips, his kiss. She was home.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She didn't just lose him. She watched him go."

When the police arrived, all they found was a knife lying on the floor, blade clean. No Quinn. And Rachel had been standing outside the door the whole time. St. James took it in while Rachel rushed from room to room, asking for Quinn and keeping an eye out for secret passages.

"No sign of a struggle," St. James said. "No sign of forced entry, unless you count us. You sure you didn't cash this favor just to get me alone? You'd better get on that quick, I'm transferring out of the NYPD in a few."

"Even if that were the case, Jesse, I would hardly be so inconsiderate as to have sex in a friend's apartment!"

"Then I have no reason to be here." St. James stood by the door. "I understand that you're worried about your friend, but a lot of people lose someone. They get over it."

"She didn't just lose him. She watched him go."

***

 _When I was just a little girl  
I asked my mother, what will I be_

Rachel could hear the singing faintly. It came from down the hall. She'd gotten the super to let her go up and look at Finn's apartment under the pretense of renting it. He'd said he would come up with her later. Rachel doubted it.

 _Will I be pretty, will I be rich  
Here's what she said to me._

It was Quinn's voice, lovely and sad and melancholy. Perfect, in a way. Hearing her brought tears to Rachel's eyes. She wiped them away before she tried the door. It was open.

 _Que Sera, Sera,  
Whatever will be, will be  
The future's not ours, to see  
Que Sera, Sera  
What will be, will be._

Opening the door let a blade of light into the apartment. It just hit Quinn's bare foot and continued on to an open window, where the distant beeping of car horns ripped at her singing. Quinn was sitting against the wall, wearing one of Finn's shirts. It was oversized on her, the tails draping down to the knees of her perfect legs, and a tie laid open around her neck. Her hands toyed with either end, lazily attempting to force it into a knot.

"Oh, Quinn…" Rachel said.

Quinn stopped singing, but kept humming. Enough light spilled from the hallway to reflect off the tears that had run down the cheeks. Rachel shut the door behind her and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

"It would have been our anniversary today," Quinn said. She spoke without emotion, but her throat was raw, and it loaded her words with pain. "No, a week from today. I was going to get him a watch. He already has a watch, but it's digital, Velcro strap, I wanted him to get a really nice one. I was going to get Mike to help me pick it out. The money was… the money… why can’t I remember? It was under the mattress in an envelope. I was going to get reservations for a fancy restaurant… Sue could’ve helped…"

"Quinn…" Rachel couldn't think of anything to say. She scoured what she could see of Quinn for some sign, some hint. Anything she could do to make this better. "Everyone is really worried."

"You know, according to Hasidic Jews, God created one perfect soul mate for every man and woman on Earth. Can you imagine… knowing you’ve found yours and then losing him? Knowing you’re all alone, that you’ll never be… complete? You'd be a wretched thing…"

Rachel didn't know how close she could get. How close she should get. The windowsill was large enough to support her weight. She walked past Quinn, hoping a little that Quinn would take her lowered hand, to sit down on it and felt a little chill from the night air circling into the room. She wasn't exactly facing Quinn and she wasn't turning away… she could almost ignore the cuts and bruises and tears if she wanted.

"How can he be your soulmate when I..." Rachel thought better of it. "He's gone, Quinn. You have to accept that or it'll tear you apart."

"Yeah, I've seen him," Quinn interrupted rudely, like Rachel was being stupid. "Don't tell me how to live my life, Berry, you're the one stalking me." She stood up and shuffled closer to Rachel, until she was standing over her, her hands on the glass above Rachel's head. "I mean, I help people. At least I try. Trying is important, trying is something most people don’t even bother with. But I do. I still try not to hurt people. I do try…"

"Is your intention to scare me, Miss Fabray?" Rachel forced out. "Because I don't think you could hurt me. I'm just scared _for_ you."

Quinn shook her head. "You should be scared. Everyone I love gets hurt! But then, you knew that going in, didn’t you!" Quinn banged her fist on the window and Rachel heard it shift a few inches down. "What kind of friend are you, huh? Finn is in a hospital bed and you’re trying to _fuck_ me!"

Rachel bit her lip until it hurt. "That's good, Quinn. You should put some of the blame on other people for a change. But instead of me, why not where it belongs? Kurt Hummel hurt Finn." Quinn was shaking her head, frantically now, saying that she put him in harm's way, that she should've stopped it, but Rachel shouted over her. "It's not my fault and it's not yours. You can’t be everywhere at once and you can’t save everyone and that’s okay! _Why do you have to blame yourself for everything?_ "

Quinn shouted right back " _Because I'm--_ " She turned away at the last moment, her throat closing up. Rachel could never know. Rachel could never be in that kind of danger.

"Because you're the Cheerio?"

Quinn whipped back around. "What? No, I'm not…"

Rachel ripped her shirt open. Underneath, her Cheerio costume still had dried blood on it.

Quinn backed away, singing to herself again. _When I was young, I fell in love_ Rachel knew, which meant she would worry, she would see the Cheerio swing into action and know that each time, Quinn might not come home. _I asked my sweetheart what lies ahead_ And her enemies, if they had one hint, one clue that Rachel wasn't just another girl, that she knew about the Cheerio, that she _meant something to the Cheerio…_

 _Will we have rainbows, day after day  
Here's what my sweetheart said._

"It wasn't that hard to figure out," Rachel said, standing. "The way you disappear whenever trouble arrives, just as the Cheerio makes an entrance." She walked toward Quinn, refusing to let her get away again. She would grab onto Quinn and hold onto her as she leapt across the rooftops if she had to. "Even the way you blame yourself makes more sense. I probably wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been looking, but I had to know what you and Finn had. And I got too close. All I wanted to do was learn how to hum your song, but now it's stuck in my head. I know how people look at me, like I'm a freak. And I feel like a freak, I do, I just push it aside. You make me feel normal. I want to make you feel that. I want us to feel… the way I hope we really are."

Quinn's song dissolved to mumbling, to humming. To silence. Then she looked up and her face brightened like the sun had risen just for her.

"I love you..."

Rachel shut her eyes before more than one tear could slip out. "Oh God… Quinn, that's… I'm not used to hearing things like that."

She opened her eyes. Quinn was looking past her, over her shoulder. She extended her hand and it clenched like someone had taken in. Then Quinn rose to her feet like a puppet drawn by strings.

"Finn," she said gently.

***

Everything was as it was supposed to be. The music was playing again and the furniture was back and Finn was there and it didn't matter how, but still Quinn asked "Tell me this is real. Please."

Finn crushed her face against his chest and his arms around her were so strong that she knew he'd never let her go again.

"Of course it's real," Quinn heard, the sound so powerful it vibrated into her body.

And something else, in her ear. A persistent little buzzing. Maybe an insect.

"What's that noise?"

"What noise?" Finn laughed.

"I could've sworn I... Never mind. It's not important."

Finn smiled benevolently. He forgave her. He always would. "Quinn… there's a way that we can be together, always."

"Tell me."

Finn walked toward the window, leading her along.

***

All Rachel could do was watch as Quinn stood there, transfixed by something invisible. "Come back to me," she whispered.

Quinn took a step toward the window.

Rachel had a waking nightmare of Quinn going out that window, and Rachel didn't care that she could swing off of buildings or survive a punch from a giant robot. She just grabbed Quinn and shook her. "No! Quinn, I know it seems bad, but it's not that bad, it is _not_ hopeless. Trust me!"

Quinn kept walking and Rachel wasn't strong enough to hold her back. She felt small and useless and worthless. But she wouldn't give up on Quinn, ever.

Rachel ran in front of the window and held herself in front of it, arms spread. Quinn's outstretched hand brushed against Rachel's face and she stopped, eyes flickering, focusing, a moment of lucidity.

"Please, stay here," Rachel begged. "With me."

"I'm Finn's," Quinn muttered. "I can't be someone else."

"You _are_ someone else. Someone stronger than this! The woman he fell in love with would never take the easy way out!"

Quinn's hand wavered between them. Rachel grabbed it with both hands and squeezed with all her might. Through that superhuman toughness and ancient weariness, she needed Quinn to see her. To see all of her, how she loved Quinn, how lost she'd be without her.

Quinn blinked like she didn't know where to look. "I'm not that person anymore. I don't have any strength without him."

"You don't need Finn. The strength's inside you. I see it, even if you don't. Please. Don't give up and... and I won't give up on you."

The curtains blew in the wind, drifting across both of them.

"I can hear him." Quinn's head bowed. "I can hear Finn in my head… he says I have to choose but I can't. I don't know what to do."

Rachel hadn't let go of Quinn's hand. "He's right, Quinn. You have to choose, but you don't have to choose him. You can have a new life, you can be whoever you want to be. You've done so many amazing things already. You've saved people. You saved me, remember? You are so special, and you give so much to everybody around you. Now, I'm begging you from the bottom of my heart, please, choose me. I need you more than he does. I know the world can hurt sometimes and I know how tempting it is to give up. But I will never give up on you. Please don't give up on me. Please, give us a chance."

Quinn looked at Rachel, finally, and there was something in her gaze, some warmth, like she was seeing something she couldn't say no to. Her brow furrowed, as if she had to cry but there were no tears left. "I can't see him now."

Quinn felt to her knees and Rachel was right there with her, wrapping her up in an embrace, kissing her ear and the side of her neck and rubbing her back to try to show her just how relieved she was. Until finally she just pressed her forehead against Quinn's and held on.

Quinn mumbled. "I just... I wanna feel better, Rachel."

"I know, Quinn. We can do this together. I'll help you. I know that I can help you."

"How do you know?"

"Because you've already helped me and you weren't even trying."

***

Quinn had a good dream. Someone was singing to her and she didn't see Finn's face.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brittany had been on vacation. She'd been saving up those days for a long time, hoping that when Santana finally came around, they could spend that time together. But now all her vacation days were being spent looking at the phone, waiting for Santana to call.

Brittany had been on vacation. She'd been saving up those days for a long time, hoping that when Santana finally came around, they could spend that time together. Otherwise, she would just as soon work. She liked the gym and she liked helping people get in shape and she even liked the way people looked at her when she wore tight spandex.

But now all her vacation days were being spent looking at the phone, waiting for Santana to call. She'd stopped caring if Santana left Sam, or started being a lesbian. She just wanted Santana to say something. Even if it was that she didn't love her.

The window broke in the other room.

Brittany got up, clutching the cushion she'd been lying on, and walked to the door. Santana stood there. Her body had changed, her skin had changed, but Brittany could recognize the look she got.

She wasn't frightened.

"I was hoping you'd come."

The thing she still called Santana turned, its feet crunching broken glass without an ounce of discomfort. Brittany hugged her cushion tighter.

"Come with me," Santana said from deep in her throat.

"We should see a doctor. They'll help you."

"I've never felt better, Britt." Santana stepped closer. More glass broke. "Come with me. I'll fix you."

"There's nothing wrong with me. I've been on a diet lately. Atkins."

"No, Brittany. You're foolish and you cry too much for too many people. I was foolish too. But now I'm special. I'm better. I've come to make you better too."

"Does special mean nasty? You don't have to be nasty."

Now Santana was close enough that Brittany could feel her body heat, if she had any. "It's great, Brittany. No one can make fun of you or pick on you, ever again. Imagine always being the strongest, the fastest, the best at everything."

"I like being me. You did too, remember?"

"Never. I always hated the hold you had on me, so I washed it away. But it keeps coming back on me. So I'm going to fix you, too, and then we can be together. As friends. Because that's all we were ever meant to be. You can stand by my side. Rule a new world with me. A world without fear…"

Brittany shook her head. "If that's who you think your friend is, then I'm not your friend."

Santana ran her hand down the pillow Brittany was holding. It spilled fluff all over the floor. "I gave you a choice. Remember that."

***

Quinn's hunger woke her up. She had no choice in the matter.

The familiarly spartan confines of her apartment were nowhere in sight when she opened her eyes, replaced with pink and a lot of lace. It was like she'd been on Trading Spaces with Sailor Moon. There were motivational pictures on the wall, actual posters of kittens hanging in there.

"Have you been eating?" Rachel demanded, coming through the door with a heaping tray of—sweet Jesus—maple-drenched pancakes. "I can hear your stomach from here."

Quinn held out her arms. "Give."

Rachel held the pancakes out of arm's reach, as if Quinn were anywhere near arm's length. "What's the magic word?"

Quinn gave a brilliant smile. "Expelliarmus."

"You're lucky you're cute." Jealousy entered Rachel's voice. "First thing in the morning. After the week from hell."

"My battle damage doesn't detract from my perfection?" Quinn's voice managed to be both teasing and rueful.

"Actually, it makes you quite approachable."

Rachel set the tray on the bedstand. There was also a glass of milk and a side of bacon.

"Bacon's kosher now?" Quinn asked.

"Oh, feel free to enjoy. God didn't choose your people for anything, after all."

Quinn did. "What happened last night? Things get a little hazy after the nervous breakdown."

Rachel sat down on the foot of the bed, taking a cereal bar out of her pocket so it was kinda like they were having breakfast together. "Well, you were crying a lot—very prettily, mind you—and I didn't want to leave you alone, so I brought you back here to my abode and baked you some cookies." Rachel peeled the foil like a banana, looking at the breakfast bar intently. "And we watched Beaches and I tucked you in and I might've given you something to help you relax."

Quinn's brow furrowed playfully. "Might? When you say it like that, it sounds like you date-raped me."

"Oh, gosh no! We just smoked a little reefer." Rachel took a bite of her cereal bar, congratulating herself on handling the situation so properly.

Now Quinn was concerned. This was what came from associating with an actress. "You have _weed_ in your apartment?"

"No, don't worry, I had to go out and get it. I only ever experimented because I wanted to know why Will Ferrell was so funny."

Quinn calmed down. A little. "So you left me to score some pot?"

"No, no, no, I wouldn't leave you alone in your vulnerable state."

Quinn sat bolt upright. "You took me along to make a drug deal!?"

Rachel moved in to pat Quinn's knee, setting her at ease. "He's just a college kid who likes Bob Marley! He's not even black!"

"Okay, okay, his race doesn't make a difference to me, but okay…"

Rachel was still looking at her with panicking eyes, so to set her mind at ease, Quinn took a big bite of pancake. Rachel nodded, pleased, when Quinn moaned at the taste.

Quinn didn't mention that Rachel's hand was still on her knee. "So what happened while I was all drugged and vulnerable? Anything fun?"

"I slept on the couch," Rachel said proudly. "As I would expect you to do if our situations were reversed."

"I'm not accusing you of anything." Quinn took another bite. Her hunger was finally starting to subside and it was kinda fun, the way Rachel stared at her smacking her lips. "I don't even care. It's just good that nothing happened because… it wouldn't work between us. You and I. Me and anyone."

Rachel took the hit like she'd been waiting for it and it still cracked her in half. "I understand."

Quinn set her plate down with a clatter of silverware. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She should've waited. No, Rachel needed to hear the truth. No, she should've let her down easy. "It's not you. You're great. Beautiful. You're who I should be with, but I'd lose you and you'd lose me and I can't, I can't—not again. Not to you."

"I said I understand, Quinn Fabray!" Rachel stood and, arms crossed, furiously paced around the bed. "Believe it or not, I am a smart person and it occurred to me you might feel this way!" She reached the other side and couldn't get between the headboard and the wall, so she Ved her arms on the mattress and leaned over to Quinn. "My concern for you is that you're a hero and it would be incredibly stupid for a hero to die because she's too stupid to find a decent therapist!"

"What happened with Santana?" Quinn asked as soon as she was done talking.

Rachel slipped a little, trying to hold herself up on the smooth sheets and soft mattress. "Who?"

"Santana. The Reptile. Did they catch her sunning herself on a rock or something?"

Rachel pushed herself back up. "No, the police tracked it into the sewers. They're hunting it down now."

"Good." Quinn threw back her covers and raised an eyebrow at her own undress. "Rachel, I can't go into battle like this. I'm not Emma Frost."

"Costume's drying in the oven. I washed it in the shower. Secret identity."

"Thanks." Quinn made for the kitchen, only wondering when she got to the door if she was sending the wrong signal by walking there in a bra and panties, especially 'battle-damaged' bra and panties. But then maybe the wrong signal was caring if she was seen 40% naked.

Being a lesbian was hard. She was glad she wouldn't have to do it for long.

"But you're not going out there," Rachel insisted, following Quinn into the kitchen. "I know you're supposed to get right back on the horse when you fall off, but in your case, you've fallen off the horse, so you should have bed rest and talk to a psychologist, maybe take up yoga…"

Quinn found her costume. Rachel had actually managed to get the alien bloodstain out of the skirt. Quinn tried not to think about how much effort that had taken. She pulled in on in fits and jerks. "They're going to kill her, Rachel. If she doesn't kill them first. And there's a good person in there, someone people love, and I can save her. I know I can't save everyone, but I can save her. The least I can do is save her."

Rachel was so quiet that Quinn almost thought she had left. She didn't want to turn around to find out. Then, finally, she spoke. "You know I love that about you, Quinn… I'll be here when you get back."

Quinn pulled her boots on. "If I come back, there's no place I'd rather be."

She opened the window and was gone.

Behind her, Rachel made a little broken sound. "If?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can you beat her?" Shelby asked.

Quinn remembered the way to the nerve center of the city's underground transit system from a case she'd worked involving subway pirates. There'd been cops camped out with coffee and donuts then too. Detective Goolsby and Inspector Cochoran were already there, surveying maps.

"Evening, Shelby," Quinn greeted warmly. They'd worked together on the Sunshine Corazon kidnapping. She'd always admired Shelby's MILF status. Not everyone aged so gracefully.

"The Cheerio!" Goolsby shouted. He was tough, hard, and about 5'2.

"Bonus points to my publicist," Quinn retorted.

Goolsby looked around at all the cops snapping pictures on their phones. "Someone arrest this clown!"

"Oh, Goolsby, I just can't take you seriously when I feel like you should start every sentence with 'Oompa loompa doompadee doo.'" Quinn dropped down next to Shelby. "Where's the Reptile?"

Goolsby puffed up. "My SWAT boys are flushing him out as we speak. We're have him within the hour."

"You've been saying that for the last four hours," Shelby commented.

"And it's a she," Quinn added. "I'm going after her. You can help me or not, but I know how to find her and how to stop her."

"The city of New York does not endorse vigilantism," Goolsby said primly.

"Listen, Tyrion, I loved you in Game of Thrones, but this is sci-fi, not fantasy. Butt out."

"Fine, I'll do it myself." Goolsby pulled out his handcuffs. "I am placing you under arrest—"

"Sergeant!" Shelby barked. "Why don't you go give a status update to the Mayor? I'm sure he'd like to know who's joined the search."

***

The subway map was a Gordian knot of red, blue, and orange lines going through the boroughs like veins. Shelby tapped on one of them. "Alright, this is the only electrical connection anywhere near open water. It's like an underwater cave."

"Why didn't they shut the power off?" Quinn asked.

"I don't know. Politics or something. No one ever used the thing, it was a drain of about a half-watt every decade. Why go to the trouble of fixing it? It's called the Astor Tunnels. Over a century ago, Astor, Rockefeller, Morgan, and a bunch of other rich bastards built a private railcar line. Came down from Pelham, under the Park, beneath the Knickerbocker Hotel, the Fifth Avenue parkfront mansions. Fancy private stations and waiting rooms. The deepest excavation in the history of New York."

"What, were they looking for oil?"

"Geology. Had to go deeper than the existing train lines and early subway tunnels. But right below is a layer of rotten Precambrian siltstone, so they had to go deeper. Thirty stories deeper. With those deep tunnels, they could go straight out of the city, come up around Croton, and be on their way. No delay, no mixing with the common folk."

"Why were they abandoned? CHUDs?"

"Worse. Maintenance. Beneath most of the sewer and storm like they were, you could never keep them dry. Then there was methane buildup, carbon monoxide, you name it."

Quinn remembered that from her science class. "Heavy gases seeking the lowest level."

Shelby nodded. "They spent millions on those damn tunnels. Never finished the line. They were only open for two years before the flood of ninety-eight overwhelmed the pumps and flooded the place. So they bricked everything up. Didn't even pull out the machinery."

"Then that's where she'll be."

"How can you be sure?" St. James piped up, holding up the bag Quinn had asked for. Inside was everything she needed to navigate the tunnels.

Quinn grabbed the bag from him. "She needs power to run the machine and having it only accessible from the water makes it easy to defend. She's a monster, not stupid. If you didn't have me, how would you get her out of there?"

St. James conceded the point with a shrug.

Shelby pulled Quinn inside, talked to her as Quinn looked through her things. She'd asked for three flashlights and she checked all of them to make sure they worked.

"Can you beat her?" Shelby asked.

"Why would I go down there if I couldn't?"

"Goolsby asked the Mayor for permission to pump the area full of cyanide gas. God help us if any of it leaks out, but that's our only other play."

"It won't come to that."

"Good. I'd hate to waste good cyanide."

***

Rachel didn't know where else to go.

After befriending Quinn, Finn's hospital room seemed colder and starker somehow. Rachel hugged herself after she set down a bouquet of flowers. She'd never brought any before, but today seemed like it needed it.

"Hi!" she greeted Finn, throwing her whole arm into a wave. "It must seem like we forgot you exist. Sorry about that. Things have exuberated… things have gotten pretty exuberated lately…"

The flowers at Finn's bedside were wilted. Quinn's. Rachel picked them up, found one or two that still had life in them, and added them to her own vase. It was purple. Just one more bit of color for the white hospital room. It seemed like the hospital was designed to dry out color. Even Finn's clothes were white now, and he was getting so pale…

"Did you know about Quinn?" Rachel asked. "About her… day job? Yeah, I bet she told you. She must've told you everything. You two must really have been in love, because she is so lost without you."

The chair next to his bed always squeaked when she pulled it over to sit down. Rachel liked to cry, she was good at it, but she sniffled and resisted the tears this time. They seemed cheap now, like she had no right to them. "What's happening, Finn? Just when we're pulling everything together, it seems like everything's tearing us apart. You're a good person, what could you have possibly done to deserve this? There are supervillains and corruption and now monsters and I just can't tell what's going on, what's _wrong_ with the world. I miss you. I miss... I miss not having to care. What was so bad about the way things used to be? Are things going to get better? And how did you survive it, knowing she was out there and she could die? She could _die_ , Finn. Why does she have to be out there? Why's she the only one who can do these things? It's not fair, Finn. I know life isn't fair, but something should be. She deserves it."

Rachel stood. She was so worked up all of a sudden. She rubbed her arms, trying to warm them up. Maybe it really was cold in there. "But I guess someone has to do it. I'm glad it's someone like Quinn. Even if I wish it were anyone else. Thanks for listening. If I find her... I'll take care of her. I promise."

***

Thirty minutes later, Quinn was thirty stories down. Water dripped down into the subway tunnel, echoing along with her footsteps across monumental archways that gave way to naves as big as Notre Dame.

She scoured her flashlight over a shantytown: cardboard walls, electrical wiring, elaborate debris kitchens. The walls were infested with messages, everything from "Kilroy was here" to elaborate poetry, written around crude graffiti. The latest depicted various reptiles. No wonder it was abandoned.

Up ahead, the tunnel was bricked over. The wall had been completely covered with graffiti, like the old inhabitants were a primitive tribe paying homage to a god. Quinn supposed you didn't live in a subway if you were the kind of person who got freaked out by one giant lizard.

Summoning up all her strength, she banged her fist against the wall. It held. And attracted attention. A voice shivered through the wall.

"Who is it?" Brittany asked.

"You're not Santana… who's in there?"

"It's me… Brittany S. Pierce."

"The Reptile kidnapped Britney Spears?"

"No… that's a common mistake. My name's spelled B-R-I-T-T-N-Y."

"Oh. Good. I was thinking of leaving you here." Quinn looked up to see a crack in the wall. It wasn't big enough for her, but she wondered if the Reptile could've slithered through it. Shooting a ribbon up like a grappling hook, she climbed up to look through it.

The abandoned subway station was like Grand Central's dead little brother. It was obvious that there was a time that the cavernous space had glistened with immense Gothic statuary, tile mosaics, and decorative arches. Now it was a frozen maelstrom of twisting cast iron trusses, broken steam pipes, fragmented scaffolding and hanging cables. Cracked mannequin faces stared out from a tailor shop with its sign eternally turned to CLOSED. A flower parlor had replaced its roses with cobwebs. A group of abandoned turn-of-the-century subway cars decayed on parallel tracks. Glimmering debris littered the floor--cans, eyeglasses, chrome, foil, glass shards, broken watches... even gold teeth.

"Brittany?" Quinn called. "Where are you?"

That's when Quinn saw the machine. A spidery assembly of parts, it sat above a pit in the floor. Cables sprawled out from it into other equipment, including one braided cord tapping into the city's power. And above it, Brittany was inside a cage.

A rattle filled the air, ominously jangling like war drums. Quinn followed the noise to the far side of the station as Santana emerged from the shadows.

Her back had sprouted armor plates like a Stegosaurus's, while her tail had a rattler like a snake's. A cobra's massive hood surrounded her horned head, while her snout had grown out into a crocodile's maw.

"What are you doing to her?" Quinn demanded.

" Making her the first of many." Horribly, Santana's vocal cords had fit into her new body, now letting out her human voice from monstrous teeth. "When I'm done, she'll rule by my side. Cold. Logical. Reptilian."

"I don't want to be a lizard," Brittany protested. "I'd eat flies and I think they have a lot of calories."

Santana hissed as she threw a lever all the way from one end of its arc to the other, turning the machine on. A ray of light shot down the pit and into the water, which churned and bubbled. Steam rose up to billow around her.

"Soon…" She looked up at Quinn, her eyes kicking back light like an animal's. "Leave now, cheerleader. Turn away and enjoy what time you have left before I use my machine on the water supply. Humanity is about to become an evolutionary dead-end."

Quinn hit the wall until even her impervious knuckles stung, but all it got her was a dent the size of a dinner plate. Someone grabbed her shoulder. When she turned, Finn was there.

"Please. Don't do this. I don't want you to die."

Quinn massaged the knuckles of her hand. "You're not real," she said, not quite sure if she wished she were lying or not.

"You wouldn't leave me alone, would you?"

Quinn's fingers clenched. "Finn, do me a favor. Don't watch. I'll see you soon."

***

The police didn't ask many questions when Quinn told them she needed their help to rewire the track. In no time at all, with no warning at all, the train was lurching forward. Wheels sparked and kicked into gear; rusting, creaking, the train groaned down the tracks. Quinn was right there with it. One last chance to have a purpose.

She'd known, intellectually, on a level Finn could never appreciate, that she'd lose _sometime_. You didn't have to be great at math to know statistics. No one could win forever. So, the only thing that mattered was how you looked when the cards came up a dead man's hand. Did you frown, did you close your eyes, did you whimper in fear? Or did you grin and bear it?

Quinn had a smile on her face. A small one, but nonetheless genuine. She wasn't afraid at all. Just tired. She finally understood why all the ancient warriors wanted to die in battle. At the last moment, at the bitter end, there was no more rage for the dying of the light. There was a kind of peace. A kind of hope.

Something Quinn could savor.

The train hit the wall and burst through, derailing, scraping along the floor in morass of kicked-up stone and sheared-away sparks. It was headed right for Santana. She hissed and turned, only for her tail to knock the train aside. It screeched away into the drop-off that let the original flood waters in, falling over the edge with a suddenly ghastly silence. Then came the muted sound of its hit and the slow music of it sinking.

"Nice save," Quinn said.

Santana turned, just realizing that Quinn wasn't in the train as the blonde swung into her at full speed. They soared over the chasm and into the opposite wall, hitting and making a crater the size of a pool. Quinn backflipped away and landed on dry land, while the Reptile, dazed, hung from her armor plates embedded in the wall. Santana tore herself loose and hit the water. Quinn looked down to see the ripples of her impact disappearing amidst the bubbles leaking up from the sunken train.

"Let's get this over with."

Then the water _exploded_ , Santana breaching the surface like she was sprung from a coil. Quinn braced herself, but she still wasn't ready for how fast the Reptile was. Santana rammed into Quinn, carrying her into the air where Santana took hold of her and flung her down, into a fallen chandelier. The noise of its dusty glass cracking filled Quinn's ears. It was still twinkling when the Reptile stomped up to Quinn and ripped her out of the shattered glass. Quinn dangled from its grip, boots pumping a meter off the ground.

"I can smell your emotions. Love, fear, regret, happiness. Such confusion makes you weak!"

"Wanna know what makes you weak?" Quinn asked, holding a chandelier crystal up to the light. When the Reptile looked up at it, she buried the crystal in its eye. "No depth perception."

It let go of her and that was all the time she needed to juke to the left and pull rebar from a damaged pillar. She swung the bar into the Reptile's gut, screaming, yelling louder and louder with each hit until the length of rebar broke clean in two.

Quinn backed away, trying to think, as Santana pulled the crystal out. Her eye slitted shut, then opened, uninjured. Quinn was so dumbfounded that she dodged too late when the Reptile made its move—or maybe it just didn't matter. With a spurt of blood, claws slashed across her chest. Quinn's dodge ended in her hitting the floor, raked over the debris left by the subway train. The Reptile lunged, aiming to press her to the floor and gobble her down, but she caught it on top of her bended legs and then sprung her knees out, sending it flying. Santana flew up to hit the chandelier clasp holding up Brittany's cage. It gave way.

Quinn sprang into action, rolling to the side and coming up on one knee, throwing out a ribbon from her baton. It shot through the bars of the falling cage and hit the wall. Quickly, Quinn threw her baton up to embed in the wall, turning the ribbon into a clothesline and leaving the cage hanging.

As the Reptile attacked again, Brittany reached between the bars and grabbed the ribbon, pulling the cage along hand by hand.

A hand pressed painfully to the wound on her chest, Quinn kept one step ahead of the Reptile, leaping and dashing through the abandoned storefronts. Behind her, a runaway bulldozer couldn't have been more destructive. The Reptile pinned her down in the tailor shop, bearing her to the ground amidst scores of mannequin witnesses. Snarling, it put its foot to Quinn's head and _pressed_.

"Did you know you've got something stuck in your teeth?" Quinn asked, firing her second baton down its throat.

Gagging, the Reptile staggered back. Quinn grabbed it by the tail and swung it around, swiping through shelves, rushing up decayed scraps of cloth before letting go. The Reptile crashed through the storefront window and hit a pillar outside, shattering the base and rolling away. Quinn came out running, leapfrogged it, and kicked the rest of the pillar out.

"Timber," she quipped as it fell toward the Reptile. Who caught it. With a crack of her wrist, Quinn sent the tip of her ribbon across its eyes. It let go of the pillar, which cracked over its head. Quinn went in for more, but stumbled. When she got up, she saw an imprint of her blood on the floor.

The Reptile was watching her, its form whitened by the dust from the pillar. Quinn was soaked in her own blood. They breathed heavily, trying to pull back a little of what the fight had taken out of them. The eye of the hurricane.

Quinn charged. Screaming out all the rage, all the pain, everything in her life, she was on the Reptile, hammering it with lefts and rights so hard that you could hear stones rattling, a rapid-fire volley of hits that she put every last ounce of energy into and there was no way the Reptile could take it, no way in _hell_ it could still be standing...

Quinn fell against it weakly, utterly exhausted, feebly trying to lay into it with a few pitiful blows. The Reptile bore them, tilting Quinn's chin up with one claw.

"You still have time for one last joke. The punchline better be a good one. Only God will hear it."

"Well, I know He has a sense of humor... since you're standing here."

The Reptile put its claw to the hollow of Quinn's throat and pushed, the razor-sharp tip just drawing blood…

Brittany had pulled the cage along Quinn's ribbon all the way to the wall, where the tip was buried. Putting one foot against the brick, she pulled on the ribbon with both hands until it came out. The cage dropped, air whistling through the bars, and hit the ground, breaking open.

The Reptile was distracted. And while it was distracted, Quinn grabbed its claw and buried it in its own belly.

"You don't want to feel anything?" Quinn demanded, bounding back up. "That can be arranged!"

She circled around the Reptile, leaping over the tail and landing in the armor plates, wedging her legs into them. Her fingers still slick with blood, she grabbed the Reptile's upper mandible in one hand and the lower mandible in his other. "Say ahh!" Pulling in opposite directions, she ignored the Reptile's flailing, didn't even notice when its claws drew blood from her thighs or arms. Finally, with a sharp crack, something gave.

Quinn pulled Mike Chang's vial from her boot. "It's your lucky day. The human race has one more opening, if you get your application in quick!" She popped the cork and poured it down the Reptile's throat.

The convulsions the Reptile went into finally threw Quinn off. Veins corded in its neck and desiccated scales peeled off to expose smaller, more flesh-toned ones. The snout shrunk like it was trying to go back into her face. Flecks of white appeared in her eyes...

"That's it, Lopez, fight it!" Quinn urged, winding her cape around her blood-smeared torso.

The armor plates dropped away and shattered on the floor like peanut brittle. Quinn stepped over them to put a hand on Santana's shoulder. It felt warm.

"Fight it…" Quinn begged.

"I am," the Reptile said as it swiped her away. Quinn flew back, into a wrecked piano, and didn't get up. The Reptile came up to drag her out of the nest of piano wires.

Quinn laughed as she was pulled along the floor. "Go ahead, Santana. Do it. It's still in your system. I still saved you."

"And who's going to save you?" the Reptile demanded, her tail flicking down by Quinn's head.

"No one. That's the beauty of it."

The Reptile's brow furrowed as it pulled Quinn up by the neck. Human eyes shone out of her scaled face. "You want to die. Of course. What else could you do with all those emotions? You want nothingness, but you can't kill yourself. That'd be a sin."

"I want it to stop hurting," Quinn corrected gently. "Just on my own terms."

The Reptile tossed Quinn to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Quinn felt the impact dimly, like it was happening to someone else. The Cheerio.

The Reptile compulsively scratched at its arm, rending the flaky scales to expose baby-pink skin. "Yes… I remember that. I knew it was risky, experimenting on myself, but the noise… all that confusion, always worrying what people would think. But in here…" the Reptile tapped the side of its head, then scratched at it, opening the skin to let out a growing ear. "It's quiet. You can think. It's like a dream…" It toed Quinn, rolling her over. Letting her see the pit under the machine. "I'm not going to kill you. I'll make you better."

It kicked Quinn and she went over. But she grabbed the edge and held on, even when the sudden strain woke her body up full of pain. She didn't know what difference it made, dying a woman or dying a lizard, but it struck her that Santana was wrong. The noise was chaos, but there was love mixed in there. Even if it took the form of Rachel instead of Finn, she didn't want to leave it behind. So she hung on. And the Reptile stepped on her fingers. Quinn's hand slipped. Quinn hung from one arm while the other dropped to her side.

The Reptile stepped on Quinn's other hand even as her foot shrunk into a human's. "You'll see. Then you'll turn me back, and we'll save Brittany and everyone else. You have to admit, the three of us would make a hell of a team."

"I thought we were a team," Brittany said.

Santana turned. Brittany had dragged herself out of the cage and limped her way over to them. At the sight of her bruises, Santana hissed.

"We are! We will be!"

"Do you care about me?"

"Of course I do! I'm doing all this for you! To protect you! You don't know how people can be to people like us. So we _have_ to change!"

"You're not changing, you're staying the same. You care more about power than me. You'd rather be a monster than be with me."

"Not true!"

"Then stop. Just stop. Or I'm leaving and no matter what you do or how you change me, I'll never speak to you again."

Santana stood there, dumbstruck, half her face human and the other half still stretched by a snout. She didn't understand why Brittany didn't want this… and she did. "We don't have to be freaks, Britt. This is the _only way_ we won't be freaks."

"I've never felt like a freak when I was with you."

Santana took her foot off Quinn's hand. She held herself lizard-still as Brittany hugged her, but then her heart pounded and her shoulders heaved with sobs. The Reptile melted away like Brittany was squeezing it out of her, until she was just a small, naked form falling into Brittany's arms.

"Always come back to me," Brittany begged.

"Always," Santana agreed.

Brittany looked over at Quinn's hand. "It can be a group hug."

A finger slipped.

***

When Rachel got home, she found a message on her answering machine. It'd been there for hours, but some reason, that blinking red light filled her with a sense of urgency.

"Rachel, it's me," Quinn said, and Rachel was so glad they'd reached a point where they could just be 'me' with each other. "I don't know when you'll get this message. For all I know, we're listening to this together, sipping margaritas and laughing at how serious I was. I hope so. I just wanted to... I don't know. Everything was so clear in my head a while ago. I don't know who else could find this, so I'll just say that I'm alright now. Everything's going to be okay. I don't know what else to say. But I think I found what it was I was looking for. Goodbye. And thanks. For everything."

For some reason, it made Rachel sad to hear Quinn talk like that.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're a hero. You can't die."

After stroking Santana's new hair one last time, Brittany crawled to the ledge. Quinn looked up at her with empty eyes and a smile. "I just have to wait for blood loss to get me. Then I can let go. I won't change if I die."

Like she hadn't heard her, Brittany thrust her hand down. "I'll pull you up! I'm a lesbian, I have great upper-body strength."

Quinn shook her head. "I want this. This is the plan."

"You're a hero. You can't die."

"You don't get it, do you? I'm not a hero! I'm an embarrassment! My boyfriend's in a coma and I'm in love with a girl! Can you imagine how that would _look_? This way, I can go out on a win. I die stopping this, I get a free pass. I'll be spotless. Perfect."

"People aren't supposed to be perfect. People are just supposed to be people."

Quinn put her head against the jagged cement she was hanging from. Couldn't Brittany see it was better this way? She wasn't a person anymore, she was an engine of grief and she wanted to stop.

"You say you love a girl?" Brittany asked. "I know what it's like to love someone who won't love you back. If she's anything like me, she'd want to see you again. Let her."

She could try it. Give Rachel a chance. All she had to lose was her reputation. How she looked in the eyes of people like Santana. People like herself.

"She's like me," Brittany repeated.

She wanted to be how she looked to Rachel. Throwing her hand up to Brittany, she said "No. She's prettier."

Brittany grinned as she pulled. But despite her sexual orientation, they didn't make much progress until Santana took her other hand. She slapped Quinn's ass as they dragged her onto solid ground.

"I know you're a superhero, but maybe you should lay off the Hostess snack cakes."

"But the tender flaky crust," Brittany murmured, "the real cream filling…"

Quinn was too tired to keep up the stoic superhero act. She let their joy infect her, taking off her cape and tossing it to Santana. "Cover your shame."

Santana haphazardly wrapped herself up. "It's okay if you're tempted, doll."

Quinn stood. She took a deep breath, blew it out, and there was a trace of calm for her. It felt good. She wanted to see Rachel. "Cops will be here soon," she told the girls. "The Reptile took you both prisoner. I rescued you. It died."

Santana scowled a little. "Metaphor? Really?"

Quinn glanced at the machine. "And don't get any funny ideas. I'll be watching."

Santana smirked. "I'll be watchable."

Quinn considered tossing a glitter smoke bomb to cover her escape, but thought better of it. She threw her ribbon up and let it carry her to the ceiling.

Brittany looked over at Santana. "You look really awesome naked."

***

It was raining when Quinn reached the surface, like a shower over the whole city, washing things clean. She went to the hospital first. She went in through the window, but didn't get off the windowsill. She sat there and looked at Finn, really looked at him. The man she loved wasn't there. It was just a shell. The perfect partner for who she'd been, but not the person she wanted to be. Someone who could keep fighting, keep living, and not give up.

She'd never faced him with the costume on before. It felt like taking responsibility.

"I don't know if you're listening. I don't know whether it would be harder if you were or you weren't. But you deserve to hear this from me and now instead of later. Seeing you again... it was like a knife in me. It was like losing you all over again. And I can't... I can't keep feeling that. It's too painful. I'll never stop loving you, but..." She thrust herself to her feet and her wet shoes squeaked on the floor as she walked to him. It was such a funny sound in an empty room. "God, this would be so much easier if you would just wake up and we could forget I was ever saying this. But I can't keep doing this to myself. Torturing myself, it's not for you anymore, it's for me. So I don't have to admit certain things to myself. We had problems. We weren't perfect. But I do love. Did… So this is goodbye, Finn. It's goodbye."

She kissed his forehead. It felt cold.

Her story wasn't a happy one. A moment's callous disregard could ruin a life or wrench a family apart. Sometimes, the only thing in life that Quinn could hope for was that it'd keep going.

That was enough for her.

***

When Quinn came into her apartment, Rachel didn't care about the mud she tracked in or the dried blood that hadn't been washed off by the rain. She just smiled. "You look very approachable."

Quinn shrugged as she approached Rachel, the door swinging shut behind her. Even with her limp and the careful, injured way she held herself, there was something about her walk. It seemed lighter.

"It's just my battle damage," Quinn replied, before kissing her.

Rachel liked the way Quinn kissed. She herself always hesitated, worried people wouldn't see how awesome it was to be kissed by the Rachel Berry, but Quinn was a lot more confident. She owned Rachel's lips.

"So it occurs to me you might not be exactly 100% hetero," Rachel said, afterward.

Quinn nodded, deep in mock-thought. "I accept that."

Rachel babbled when she was really, really happy. She also babbled when she was relieved, and turned on, so you could imagine the lack of spaces in her sentences. "I am also not majority straight, my sexual orientation that is. So if you have any questions about strap-ons or cunnilingus or threesome etiquette, you could ask me. I'm really good at being gay."

"Yeah?" Quinn asked, voice low. Her hands on Rachel's hips. The door hadn't shut all the way. She closed it with her leg. Rachel couldn't help but notice how long it was. "How about a hands-on tutorial?"

"Love to," Rachel gasped, now a little out of breath. "I'm a very good tutor. I was in the Big Sister program in high school."

Quinn pushed Rachel down onto the couch and paused over her. "Wait, don't you have work?"

Rachel shook her head like she was trying to generate power. "Not exactly. There was a little incident and now our lead actor needs a new spleen. You wouldn't happen to be O-negative?"

Quinn shook her head slowly, smiling at the contrast to Rachel.

"Then we should definitely, definitely keep doing this."

Quinn relaxed down into Rachel's arms. Rachel, a little hampered by Quinn's weight, kissed her deeply a few times, but soon Quinn was just nestling her head under Rachel's chin, letting herself be held and stroked and caressed. Rachel enjoyed the work. It was like giving a massage. She'd have to mention to Quinn that she'd done a college course on massage for extra credit.

"I let him go," Quinn said suddenly.

There was no point asking who.

"I think that's best," Rachel said, her hands still.

"I can't even look at him anymore. But I don't want to, you know? It's like… like I'm getting over a cold. Does that make me a bad person?"

"It makes you a person who had a cold, I guess. I'll admit it, I'm usually the one who needs comforting. I once lost a part to Kelly Monaco and I cried for four hours. I put on Beaches just so I'd have an excuse."

"I'll watch Beaches with you anytime." Quinn shimmied over so she was between Rachel and the back of the coach, slipping onto her side behind the petite brunette. Before her arm could encircle Rachel again, the other woman rolled off the couch. "What?"

"Nothing. Five seconds." Rachel ran off. Four seconds later, she was back with a bottled water and a bowl of fruits, which she set on the coffee table in front of the couch. Then she rather efficiently took off Quinn's boots and socks, checking her for injuries at the same time, before kicking her own sandals toward the shoe collection by the door. Then she grabbed a quilt from behind the sofa and slipped against Quinn's front.

"Wow."

"I really don't want to move unless it's an emergency," Rachel said.

Quinn got a tight hold on Rachel. She didn't want to let go unless it was an emergency.

It was her story. She was still looking for her happy ending. She didn't know what it would look like, but she knew it was out there, somewhere. And she'd find it, some day. But just then…

There wasn't an emergency.

***

Every superhero movie has a scene after the credits.

"Kurt? Kurt?" Blaine tapped on the door to the cell. He knew he wasn't supposed to judge the patients, but even though he was just a lowly intern at the Dalton Institution for the Criminally Insane, he always got a weird vibe from Kurt Hummel. Sure, he was doing well enough in his therapy to have earned a measure of privacy and other privileges, but the singing… the way you could hear him belting out his song therapy halfway across the facility if the acoustics were just right…

Blaine threw open the door's viewing port. Kurt was sitting on the bed, his usually immaculate hospital gown (he'd insisted on it instead of a "tacky" jumpsuit) disarrayed. His back was to the door.

Blaine was dealing with his alternate personality, the one they'd tried to suppress for so long. "Prom Queen?"

Kurt turned slowly. Blaine gasped when he saw the make-up turning his face white, his eyes into black holes.

"The Prom Queen is dead. I'm the Swan Queen!"


End file.
